The Wreath of Highever
by mcdorfman
Summary: AU fic. The blight never happened, yet Rendon Howe still usurps Highever, Loghain still has his coup, and it is up to Elissa, surviving member of the Cousland family to gather support against the two usurpers, and relieve them of their heads. FemCousland/Leliana. Rated M for violence, language, and in the future: sexy times also.
1. Death to the King

_Author's Note: Hi there! Jonathan here and this is a new fanfic from yours truly! I have to say that I love Dragon Age as much as I love Mass Effect. Yes, I even like the much maligned Dragon Age II *raises flameshields*. _

_It wasn't that bad of a game. Yes, Dragon Age II was rushed, and it had TONS of things wrong with it, but come on! It had an improved combat system (though the greatsword movements could have reflected the fact that Hawke was carrying a *greatsword* and not a bloody feather!) I've always been a fan of the dialogue wheel. And the story wasn't that bad (though Kirkwall did get a bit boring at times, I'll give it that, and I believe that Bioware lampshaded that somewhere in their DLC). Loved FemHawke, loved Merrill (that cute little welsh elf!)…loved FemHawke and Merrill together (as do a lot of DA2 fanfic writers it would seem -_^). There were some good things about it!_

_Anyway, rant about DA2 over. Why am I even talking about it in a DA:O fic? Ah, well. This is an Alternate Universe story set during DA:O. The AU part meaning that there is no blight. I'm basically writing this because I believe that the events of the Origins would occur regardless of the blight, and that the Warden would be…the Warden…purely because of Duncan's intervention, and I would like to see what would follow the events of the Human Noble's origin. _

_I'm using Cousland (despite the fact that their origin seems most affected by the blight) because I feel that the HN is most likely to survive past their origin, as I believe that Amell/Surana is sent to Aeonar for helping Jowan, Aeducan is lost in the Deep Roads, Brosca gets executed, as does Tabris, and Mahariel succumbs to the blight trapped in the Eluvian. So um…yeah._

_There's going to be some FemCousland/Leliana in the future, just to let you know. And anything that belongs to Bioware…belongs to Bioware, I guess. I think the only thing that's mine is what I named the Dog…_

_Enjoy! ^_^_

**The Wreath of Highever.**

_**A Dragon Age: Origins fanfiction by mcdorfman.**_

**Chapter One: Death to the King.**

_Your Majesty,_

_Cailan, I beseech you, as your uncle, to please reconsider your marriage to Queen Anora. I must remind you that you do not have an heir, and your death – and it pains me to think of it – would plunge Ferelden into chaos._

_While an heir borne from the Theirin and Mac Tir bloodlines would unite Ferelden like no other, we must accept that perhaps this can never be. The queen approaches her thirtieth year and her ability to give you a child lessens with each passing month. I submit to you, again, that it might be time to put Anora aside. We parted harshly the last time we spoke of this, but it has been a full year and nothing has changed._

_Please, nephew, consider my words, and may Andraste's grace be with you._

_Eamon Guerrin, Arl of Redcliffe._

As Loghain Mac Tir, Teyrn of Gwaren, read the letter – and reread it, again and again - an inescapable flood of rage flowed through him. Arl Eamon had fought beside him decades ago, along with Maric during the Orlesian occupation of Ferelden, they had fought and bled together in order to drive the Orlesian scum from their lands and deliver freedom to their country. Teyrn Loghain thought he knew the man, and now _this_…Eamon advising the king – his _son-in-law_ – to drop his daughter like some sow past her prime in favour for…greener pastures. Were Eamon here before him, Loghain would surely run him through for the comments made about his daughter – as any true father would.

But it was the next letter he read which let loose the flood of rage within him.

_Cailan,_

_The visit to Ferelden will be postponed indefinitely, due to problems with our neighbours in the north: Nevarra. You understand, of course? These Nevarrans have such an odd sense of timing, don't they? Let us deal with them first, my love. Once that is done, we could discuss a permanent alliance between Orlais and Ferelden._

_With love,_

_Empress Celene I of Orlais._

When the letters were brought before him, he was told that this one was already crumpled before being carefully smoothed out, folded, and stowed in the king's drawer for safe-keeping. As he read the letter, he could smell the faint sickly odour of Orlesian perfume – the Empress' no doubt – which further fuelled his anger. When he finally had enough, he crumpled the letter and threw it at the wall of his study. "That cheating bastard!" he snarled at the other man in the room: Arl Rendon Howe of Amaranthine.

"I am so very sorry to be the bearer of bad news, your grace," Howe's oily voice slithered like the very serpent that was his reputation. Loghain doesn't particularly like the man – nobody in Ferelden did, except perhaps for Bryce Cousland – and he had no reason to have believed the snake were it not for the proof he had just crumpled up in his fury. He turned to the ball of paper that was the empress' letter to the king, pointing at it as if doing so would bestow some damning curse upon its author. "Did you read it, Howe?" he asked the arl, "Did you see the familiar tone with which she writes him, as if my daughter was not already his _wife_?" The teyrn grunted in disgust as he placed his hands across his hips and paced across the room. "'My love'," he spat mockingly. All this must be some…Orlesian plot to reclaim their old province. It _has_ to be!

Arl Howe watched Loghain's display with concealed amusement. This was too easy. And he did not even have to fabricate the letters! They were as genuine as the existence of darkspawn. For years, Rendon Howe had plotted and schemed to amass more power than his current title would allow. Although already a powerful man in his own right, he wanted more, felt that he deserved more! He wanted Highever, to start with, and then maybe the arling of Denerim…perhaps with time and careful planning he could ascend to the very throne of Ferelden! And then an opportunity had fallen into his lap, when one of the elven palace maids – as much in his pocket as the royalty's – happened upon the letters when cleaning the king's chambers. When he received the letters, he saw in them a weapon which could be used to direct Ferelden's mightiest general to accomplish his ambitions…if he could control him, of course. He thanked the elven maid profusely in his bed, and then arranged to have her killed the day after. She _was_ a loose end, after all.

Howe coughed, masking the amusement he felt. "Your grace," he began. "King Cailan loves your daughter with every ounce of his heart. It was plain for all to see."

Loghain gave the arl a look so incendiary that it could melt steel as dragonfire would. "Are you blind, Howe?!" he demanded, pointing to the crumpled letter once again. "The plot is clear as day within that letter! Love or no, Cailan was going to cast my daughter aside and wed himself to that…_bitch,_ Celene! In a single vow, Orlais would claim all they could never win by war! And what would Ferelden gain? Our fool of a king could strut about and call himself an emperor."

"Your grace," Howe said, ending the teyrn's pacing with his arms across Loghain's shoulders. "Cailan _is_ a fool, of that there is no doubt. But he is still the king."

"He'll be a damn corpse when I'm finished with him!" he snarled shrugging the arl's unwelcome touch. "And Celene too!"

This really was too easy for Rendon Howe. Good, make him even more furious, he'll be easier to manipulate. "Your grace…Loghain," he ventured addressing Loghain by his first name, if only to annoy him further, "think about what you are saying! Are you honestly considering the death of the _king of Ferelden_? The son of your closest friend, Maker rest his soul? Loghain, that is madness…_treason_ even!"

The teyrn bristled, "I had no idea we were on a first name basis, now…_Rendon_."

And that worked, Howe smiled inwardly while he presented himself in apology. "Of course, your grace," he said bowing, his voice slithering toward Loghain's ears, "my apologies."

Loghain accepted his apology even as he grunted in disgust of the man before him. Rendon Howe was more of a worm than a viper. "At any rate, yes, Howe. I am 'considering the death of the king of Ferelden.' If he thinks he could make a fool of my daughter like this and deliver Ferelden to Orlais, then you're damn right I'm considering it! _He_ is the traitor!" He glared at Howe. "Unless of course you think you can stop me, Howe, 'treason' and all?"

Howe backed away, hands in the air as a gesture of appeasement. "Of course not, your grace." He began. Now is the time. "I too weary of Cailan's rule sometimes. Like I said, he is a fool. And for all that has been said of me, I am a patriot –"Loghain scoffed, remembering the Fereldan rebellion, when Howe's family fought for the Orlesians, only to defect to their cause when it became apparent that the rebels were winning, which was the reason his family kept Amaranthine. Howe continued, "and I would rather the throne be in the hands of a true patriot, rather than a 'would-be emperor'. But storming to Denerim and confronting the king would harm your cause. It might even get you executed."

"So what do you propose?" asked the teyrn. He might as well hear this worm out if Howe is going to join his newly founded cause.

"Let _me_ deal with the king," Howe answered honestly. "Once he has been dealt with, call a Landsmeet to the nobility and announce your intentions to rule Ferelden as regent to queen Anora."

"Interesting," Loghain had to admit, this plan had some merit, and it would get less people killed than simply storming the palace and confronting Cailan. "And what do you think Anora would say about this?"

"She is your daughter, your grace," the arl answered simply. "Only you can answer that."

"Fine," Loghain grunted, "get it done."

Arl Howe nodded the affirmative. "Of course, your grace," he acquiesced, and then paused for the appropriate amount of time before pressing further. "Your grace, there is also the question of opposition."

"Opposition?" asked Loghain, wondering just what the hell he was blathering on about now.

"Yes, your grace. To our cause. Cailan might be a fool, but he has several powerful and popular allies. There is his uncle, Arl Eamon, and Teyrn Cousland, to name the most popular of them all. When you announce your regency, they would more than likely reject it out of hand. It might even lead to civil war, your grace."

Loghain visibly shook in anger as he remembered the letter from Cailan's uncle, the one declaring Anora barren and telling his nephew to replace her. "Then I'll crush them," he said simply, and then a thought occurred to him. "And I thought Bryce was a friend of yours," he said, not adding that Bryce Cousland was probably Howe's _only_ friend, at least one who was not one of his sycophants.

"Yes, your grace, a dear friend," he feigned sadness at the prospect that his friend would oppose them. All part of the plan. "But the last time I had spoken with Teyrn Cousland, he had expressed a desire for greater relations with Orlais. Would that he knew of…the letter," he nodded toward the letter Loghain had crumpled, "it would be likely that he would approve of Cailan annulling his marriage to Anora and wedding Celene. He would sell Ferelden out to Orlais!" He displayed a false display of shock. "And to think, I was going to offer him a proposal that one of my sons wed his youngest, Elissa."

Loghain nodded, and then he thought of Bryce's daughter, Elissa, his youngest child. Teyrn Loghain had only met her just the once, at a tourney in Gwaren…was it three years ago, now? He remembered watching as young Elissa Cousland met with and defeated men and women in the duelling ring. Opponents who were much larger, stronger, and some of them even quicker than she. Experienced knights, scouts and soldiers, the lot of them, and she bested them. She didn't win the tourney, of course, but she had proven herself as a brave girl and a formidable warrior, for all her youth and inexperience. She seemed to be a young woman of admirable character, one worthy of remembrance, and one whom a man would be proud to call his daughter. But then again, Bryce Cousland seemed to be a man of admirable character, and if what Howe was saying was true…

"Very well," Loghain decided gruffly, "we shall deal with Eamon and the Couslands."

"No, your grace," said Howe, feigning sadness. "_I_ shall deal with them. It's my duty as a Ferelden and as a former friend to Bryce."

Several days later, at the edge of the Becillian Forest, King Cailan Theirin of Ferelden was hunting boar. He was bored one day, stuck in the palace at Denerim, surrounded by sycophants and brownnosers all sucking up to him because they all want something. And so he decided to do something _fun_ for a change! Maybe it is for the best. Anora was better at statecraft – and more interested in it – than he would ever be. Cailan was more interested in gallant heroes saving damsels in distress from some irate dragon. In the histories of the blights, and the Grey Wardens swooping to Thedas' rescue – yes, swooping was good. It was a shame that there was no blight this time, and likely wouldn't be one in his lifetime. What he wouldn't give to fight alongside the Wardens and slay the Archdemon with his father's sword, and forever be immortalised in the tales. But, alas…it was not to be. But at least he can do this, despite some protest from the people who wanted something from him. He was the king, and so he could do anything he wanted, even hunt boar in the Brecilian, even if he had to be surrounded by guards the whole time.

The young king rolled his eyes at the idea of guards on a hunt as he followed one boar's tracks. Guards on a hunting trip! Really! It would be a wonder if he caught anything with all their clanking around in armour. And it wasn't as if there were assassins lurking about in a forest, now were they? Preposterous! And so he commanded the guards to stay back and keep quiet, he's going home with a kill if it's the last thing he ever did.

He kept following the boar's trail. It was a big one! He thought, moving through the trees, grasping the spear in his hands tightly. Anora is going to love this! And then he thought, probably not. As he tracked the boar, he thought about his wife, Queen Anora, and the letters he had received from both his uncle Eamon, and the Orlesian empress. He was so angry at Eamon for even _suggesting _that he leave his wife because she hadn't provided him with an heir – though not for lack of trying, he smiled briefly. But he loves his wife, maybe more than his wife loves him, but still. They had fought an army of Ogres in a wine cellar as children, for the Maker's sake…at least that was the explanation provided to explain all of the broken bottles. He chuckled silently, mindful of the quarry he is pursuing. When he returns to the palace, he is going to write back to Eamon, commanding him to drop the matter, or be banished from court. He hated that he would have to do that, but it was either Anora or his uncle, and he chooses Anora.

Which brings him to the matter of Celene. It had begun as a standard correspondence between two heads of state, in order to smooth relations between two old enemies: Ferelden and Orlais, to remove the bad blood between them, for peace's sake. And then the letters became more…familiar. They were flirty and teasing in their wording, as if the two were courting. And then came the latest letter from Orlais, referring to him as Celene's 'love', and talk of a 'permanent alliance'. As stupid as people think him to be, Cailan knew exactly what Celene meant by 'permanent alliance'. A marriage pact, surely, and he was certain that Celene loved him even less than Anora did. Anora at least, was a close friend, and she was fond of him as such even if she did think of him as a fool – albeit a charming and lovable one. Celene? No. No matter what the empress says about him, she would probably think him some stupid Fereldan turnip she duped into giving her Ferelden.

He knew what the real score was, and he'd still rather be with his wife. His beautiful barren wife. And so he decided to turn down Celene's offer, in favour of an alliance which didn't involve the marriage bed. A shame, really. 'Emperor Cailan' had such a nice ring to it.

He heard a twig snap behind him, probably those bloody guards he thought, annoyed. He had told them to be quiet and to keep away from him, lest he loses his quarry. He turned toward whoever stepped on the twig and alerting the boar. He was going to give this person a piece of his mind, until the assassin who was following him had run him through the heart with the dagger he was wielding.

**End Chapter One.**


	2. The Second Child

**The Wreath of Highever.**

**Chapter Two: The Second Child.**

In the early midmorning, out in the archery range of Castle Cousland, Oren Cousland was learning how to fire a bow. The young boy stood out in the range, a tiny, child-sized bow – large enough to accommodate him – in his hands, with his father, Fergus Cousland, and his and Auntie Elissa's friend Ser Roderick Gilmore watching him, and giving him pointers about how to properly take aim and loose the arrows.

Pointers which weren't helping the little boy any, as his latest arrow had flown far from the target he was aiming at, and had plunged into a nearby straw practice dummy. Little Oren was getting frustrated with this already; he was _never_ going to hit that target! Why couldn't his mama and papa just let him practice 'sward fighting' instead? He was old enough to learn how to use one instead of this stupid bow, and he was sure that Auntie Elissa would teach him if his papa wouldn't. She was a good sward fighter, better than even papa and grandpapa, and all those men she fights in the tourneys he loves to watch, and Auntie Elissa was the best aunt he has! Or rather the _only_ aunt he has, but she was _still_ the best one!

"You're concentrating too hard, Oren," his father said, placing a fatherly hand across his little shoulder. "Don't. It's so much easier to hit the target if you relax, aim, and just…let go."

"You father's right, Oren," piped in Ser Gilmore. "It's only as hard as you make it, took me until I was twice your age before I figured that one out."

"Well, that's because you're a bit thick, Roderick," Fergus commented jokingly, causing his friend to adopt a look of mock offense. "You see what I have to contend with, Oren?" he asked the boy. "Between the abuse given to me by your father and aunt, it's any wonder that I'm friends with either of them!"

"Well it's like I said: you're a bit thick," laughed Oren's papa. Ser Gilmore joined in the laughter, as did Oren, although the boy had no idea what was funny, he just didn't want to be left out.

"Now, Oren," said Fergus, laughter still dancing in his eyes, "let's get back to the bow, shall we?"

Little Oren groaned audibly. "Yes, papa," he said and then notched another arrow. As he drew the bowstring, his father helped him adjust his aim. "Relax your bow arm," said Gilmore, "take a deep breath…and loose."

As much as the little boy disliked archery, and would rather learn swordplay, Oren wanted to do his mama and papa proud with this one, and so he did as the knight said, he relaxed his bow arm, had taken a deep breath…and then the target was hit, dead in the centre. Oren would have been amazed at the accomplishment, were it actually him who accomplished it, but he hadn't even let loose his arrow. Somebody else had shot the target. The three of them turned to see Elissa Cousland, accompanied by her faithful Mabari hound, Dogmeat, bow in hand and wearing a cheeky grin on her face. Dogmeat barked happily while Elissa curtseyed. "You see, Oren?" she said, the amusement clear in her voice. "Archery's so easy, even a _girl_ can do it!"

Fergus and Gilmore chuckled to themselves while little Oren flashed his now former-favourite aunt a childish look of annoyance and decided to chase her around the range. He still had the bow in his hands, though thankfully, he dropped the arrow mid-flight. Fergus' and Gilmore's chuckles grew into full blown laughter as they watched the lady Cousland being chased by a little boy while her dog barked and danced on the spot. "Run, sis!" Fergus called. "Faster!"

The range was filled with laughter – mostly, as Oren didn't find this funny – as Oren chased his aunt in circles, until one of the elven servants interrupted their mirth. "Um, my lord and lady Cousland?" he said, instantly causing the laughter to stop, Elissa to stop running, the dog's barking to stop, and giving little Oren the opportunity to catch up to his Auntie Elissa and summarily thump her in the rear end.

"Ow!" she exclaimed, rubbing the area she had just been thumped on. She looked at her nephew, still peeved at her for teasing him. For such a little boy, Oren sure could throw a punch! "Sorry, Oren," her face held the look of one who was genuinely apologetic. She ruffled his hair and then threw an arm around his little shoulders as she paid attention to the elven servant, who obviously had a message for them. "Forgive me, milord and lady," the elf began, "but your mother and father require your presence in the main hall."

Bryce and Eleanor Cousland want to see them both? This must be official business then. Gilmore bowed toward Fergus and herself and then made his leave. Elissa leant down and kissed her nephew on the head before sending him away. "Go play with Dogmeat, Oren," she asked, not that she had to. Little Oren was charging toward her Mabari in record time. She smiled at her nephew, he was just so adorable!

Elissa and her brother followed the servant toward the great hall of Castle Cousland, where sat their mother, Eleanor, along with Fergus' wife, Oriana. Over by the great hearth which dominated the whole room, stood Bryce Cousland, their father, and the lord of the teyrnir of Highever. Bryce turned toward his children with a haunted look in his eyes. What had happened? Elissa thought. Did somebody die? "Oh, children!" Eleanor stood from her seat and made her way toward them. She embraced them both with tears daring to escape from her eyes. "There has been some horrible news," she said.

"What is it?" Fergus asked his mother as he shared a look with his wife. "What's wrong, mother?"

"The king is dead," answered their father grimly.

Two days since the tragic news of King Cailan's death, the entire nobility has scrambled about in preparation for their journeys to Denerim, for the king's funeral. Though for Elissa Cousland, there was nothing much for her to do. It had been Fergus' job to organise everything for the family's journey to the capital, and so she was just left to train with the men, or to continue her studies with the old historian, Aldous, and Mother Mallol. Right now, she was sitting in the library, nose deep in an old book, pretending to look up the word 'insouciance' while actually reading the old saga about the ancient Fereldan hero Dane and his campaign against the Werewolves as two young boys – squires – were being tutored by old man Aldous beside her, about the history of her family whose castle they reside in. Elissa was roughly half way through the saga when one of the servants informed her that her father requested her presence. She left the book as it lay, earning a disapproving look from the wise old sage as she left the library.

The young warrior made her way toward the great hall where her father was, passing the various servants guards and knights each about their respective businesses. She was a tall young woman of twenty years, with a strong young body, as one should be if one were to wear heavy plate with ease. Short, dark brown hair fell down her oval-shaped face, and she had her father's eyes. She was rather good looking, and would have no trouble in finding suitors, despite her lack of interest in actually _finding_ suitors. Her mother once told her that while she was once the battle maiden herself, it was the finer arts that landed her a husband, and she remembers training even harder with the sword and shield immediately after. Elissa smiled at the memory as she entered the castle's hall, where her father was conversing with Arl Rendon Howe over a cup of wine.

Teyrn Cousland turned to greet his daughter. "Ah, pup! There you are." He smiled at his daughter, and then turned to Howe. "Howe, you remember my daughter?"

Arl Howe turned his attention toward the young Cousland. "I see she has become a lovely young woman," he said, bowing, his voice as oily as ever. "Pleased to see you again, my dear."

Elissa wished she could say the same. Like most of the Fereldan nobility, she did not think much of Rendon Howe. She had no real idea why, there was just something about the man which rubbed her the wrong way. But he had fought with her father against the Orlesians during the rebellion; surely she could respect that, at least. "And you, Arl Howe," she said finally, bowing toward the arl.

"My son Thomas asked after you. Perhaps I should bring him with me next time."

Ugh, Maker's breath, she thought. Elissa knew of Howe's son, Thomas. She remembered being told that he was the kind of man who could find his 'fun' anywhere on Thedas, and would then vomit on your shoes. Good times for him, she supposed, but not the kind of man for her. Elissa wondered whatever happened to his other son, Nathaniel. The last she had heard, he was squiring in the Free Marches, but that was long ago. He at least seemed like a decent fellow. "To what end?" she asked Howe politely.

Howe gave a short laugh. "'To what end' she says!" he says, amused. "So glib too. She's just like her mother when she talks like that."

Her father laughed. "See what I contend with, Howe? There's no telling my fierce girl_ anything,_ these days! Maker bless her heart."

"No doubt because you trained her as a warrior," the arl commented. "How…_unique_."

Elissa didn't like the way he said that. What was so unique about it, precisely? Was there a reason a woman shouldn't be a soldier like the men? There was no tradition against it, and even if there was she'd ignore it and do it anyway. She wanted to show him the _uniqueness_ of her training right then and there, but…she doubts her father would approve. Or her mother.

"At any rate, pup, I summoned you for a reason," Bryce said to his daughter. "I am sending Fergus ahead to prepare our Denerim estate for our arrival. You, however, will stay here and watch the castle."

This surprised the Cousland woman. She hadn't been to Denerim since she was a young girl, and she was looking forward to see what it was like since then. "What?" she asked disappointed. "Why? I thought I was going to Denerim with the rest of you."

"Well _one_ of us has to stay here and be in charge," Bryce answered, surprised that his daughter would protest. She was always such a dutiful girl, although he supposed that she expected to visit the capital, and he had just dashed her expectations. But even so, as a Cousland, she will do her duty.

"Of course, father," he said with a hint of barely controlled anger, but Bryce had caught it. "I shall do my best."

She turned and proceeded to exit the hall. "Please, excuse me, Rendon," she heard her father say. She was halfway up the corridor when she heard her father's voice again. "Elissa!" he said. She stopped and turned to face the teyrn. "Was it necessary to act like a child in front of our guests?" he demanded.

"Forgive me, father," Elissa said, taking a deep breath. "I just wanted to come with you."

Bryce understood. "I know, pup. But it's like I said: one of us has to stay and watch the castle. You know what they say about mice when the cat is away, yes? You are a grown woman now, it is time you had some experience in responsibility."

"So I have to watch 'mice' while you, mother and Fergus make nice at court?"

"That's enough, pup," he said sternly. "Sulking does not become you. We are Couslands, and we do what must be done."

Elissa understood. She was young, still. There is always time enough to visit the capital. It was probably going to be boring at court anyway, and she would rather visit Denerim under better circumstances than a funeral. "Yes, father. I'm sorry."

Bryce smiled and placed his arms around her shoulders. "There's nothing to be sorry about. You are young. Now, go find your –"

The teyrn was interrupted as Ser Gilmore joined them hurriedly. "There you are," he said, out of breath. He took several big gulps before continuing. "Your mother told me the teyrn has summoned you. So I didn't want to interrupt."

The teyrn nodded toward the knight. "It's alright, Ser Gilmore." He then turned to his daughter. "See what he wishes of you, and then go find your brother to say your goodbyes." And he took his leave to rejoin Arl Howe.

Elissa faced her friend. "Good thing too, considering my father's company," she said wryly.

"Yes, I saw the arl arrive," he said glancing at the entrance to the hall before continuing. "I fear your hound has the kitchens in an uproar once again. Nan is threatening to leave."

Oh, that dog! Dogmeat always had a knack for finding trouble, for himself or for someone else. In this case it seems to be both. "Nan's just blowing off some steam," Elissa said unconcerned. Nan was her nanny long before she became the castle's cook. She wouldn't leave. Nan had a reputation among the other servants of being a miserable old bat, and while she is rather…sour, she has a good heart, and she used to tell her stories as a child. "She's always been like that."

"Your mother disagrees," Gilmore chuckled. "She insists that you collect the dog, and quickly. You know these Mabari hounds. He'll listen to his mistress, and anyone else risks having an arm bitten off."

"He knows better than to hurt anyone," she said. Which was true. Mabari hounds are trained as war dogs, and are rather brutal in combat. But while he was still a trained killer, deep down, her dog was as big a softie as he was a troublemaker. But it seems that some are not as convinced. "I'm not willing to test that," Ser Gilmore said. "You're lucky to have your own Mabari hound, you know? 'Smart enough to talk', by grandfather used to say."

"'And wise enough not to'," Elissa completed the old saying. She liked that saying; she felt it described the Mabari breed perfectly.

"Of course that means he's easily bored," the knight grinned. "Nan swears he confounds her simply to amuse himself. At any rate, your mother has commanded me to accompany you until the matter is settled. Shall we?"

"Lead on," answered Elissa, gesturing him forward, "to the kitchens, then."

"Just follow the yelling. When Nan's unhappy, she makes sure everyone knows it." It was not a long journey. And it was like Ser Gilmore had said, they just had to follow Nan's yelling and Dogmeat's loud barking. "Get that bloody mutt out of the larder!" demanded Nan to her two elven subordinates.

"But mistress," said one elf, "it won't let us near!"

"If I don't get into that larder, I will skin_ both_ of you useless elves, I swear it!"

"Err…" began Ser Gilmore, nervous now that he has to be in proximity to the sour old woman. He would sooner face a dozen Orlesian chevaliers - or darkspawn, whichever was worse - than be in the same room as Nan. "Calm down, good woman. We've come to help."

Nan turned to meet the new visitors to her kitchen. She scowled at Gilmore, "You!" she said, and then she saw his companion, her scowl growing deeper. "And _you_! Your bloody mongrel keeps getting into my larder. That beast should be put down!"

Elissa got indignant, as much as she loved her old nanny that was her _dog_ she was talking about. "He's not a mongrel!" she protested. "He's a pureblood Mabari!"

"A blightwolf, is what he is. How am I supposed to work like this?"

"Oh dear," said one of the elves. "Mistress, please calm down."

"That's it!" Nan shook her head. "I'll quit! Inform the teyrna, I'll cook at some nice estate in the Bannorn."

"Nan, please," said Elissa. "We'll get him, I promise."

"Just get him gone," the old woman scowled. "I've enough to worry about with a castle full of hungry soldiers!" She turned to the elves, "you two! Stop standing there like idiots and get out the way!"

The three of them moved out of the way while Gilmore opened the door. At least the dog has stopped barking. What they saw inside the larder was Elissa's hound sitting patiently and panting, his mouth was covered in blood. "Dogmeat?" Elissa said. When the young Cousland had received the dog as a gift when he was a puppy, she had no idea of what to name him. She had tried every name under the sun, but none of them had fit, until one day, the puppy was raiding this very larder, and Nan threatened to carve him up into dog meat, then suddenly that was it! And Dogmeat seemed to like the name, anyway. "What happened?" Elissa asked as she looked around the little room and saw at least half a dozen oversized dead rats on the floor, which explains the blood. Dogmeat barked, as if he was answering her question. Elissa could laugh, Mabari may be smart enough to talk and wise enough not to, but sometimes she wished the second part of that saying wasn't true. Ser Gilmore peeked inside and saw the carnage wrought by the large dog. "Giant rats?" he said. "That sounds like every bad adventure tale my grandfather used to tell. It seems your hound had chased them in through their holes. Looks like he wasn't raiding the larder after all."

The dog barked, as if telling Ser Gilmore that that much was obvious. "It certainly looks that way," said Elissa, amused. "Good boy, Dogmeat."

Dogmeat barked happily.

Nan entered the larder and scowled at the literally bloody dog. "There he is!" she yelled. "As brazen as you please, licking his chops as he helped himself to the roast no doubt!"

"Actually," defended Elissa, ruffling her dog's burly head, despite the dried blood caked in his fur, "he was protecting your larder from rats. Big ones."

Dogmeat barked as if agreeing with his mistress. Nan looked around the rest of her larder and saw the dead rats. "Hmph! He probably led them into here to begin with. But thank you, my lady. Now we can get to work." The old cook turned to the elves behind her. "That's right, you two! Quit standing about! You," she pointed to one elf, "clear out those rats. And you," she pointed to the other, "sweep out the hearths!"

"Miserable old bat…" one of the elves grumbled.

"We'll leave you to it," said Elissa as she, Gilmore and the dog left the kitchen, but not before Dogmeat made off with a sausage. "'Old bat' am I?! I'll…" they heard Nan's voice quieten as they distanced themselves from the kitchen. "Well, that's it then," said the knight. "Seeing as you've got your Mabari well in hand, I'll be on my way. I'm to help prepare for your brother's departure to Denerim."

As Ser Gilmore prepared to take his leave, Elissa stopped him. "Actually," she began, "could you be a dear and possibly give my dog a bath before you do that?"

Neither he, nor the dog seemed thrilled at the prospect. Dogmeat whined sadly at his mistress, giving her the sad puppy eyes. Elissa gave a short laugh. "Don't try that with me, boy. I know your tricks. You're caked in rat's blood and even if you didn't, you stink like a bog."

Dogmeat continued with the puppy eyes and whined again. "No!" she said more sternly. "You're getting a bath. End of. Now go with Gilmore."

Dogmeat whined mournfully, as if bathing was comparable to a blight, or worse. Still, he obeyed his mistress, and followed Gilmore, who grumbled to himself something about why he had to bathe her bloody dog, he's hers. Elissa chuckled and shook her head at the pair.

And now she had to find her brother.

**End Chapter Two.**

_Author's Note: Chapter two done! Yay! I would have written the entire origin story for Elissa here, but this chapter was getting too long for my tastes, so I've decided to split it into two (at least…). _

_And yes, I've blatantly ripped off a scene from Game of Thrones in the beginning of this chapter, but I had to start it __**somehow**__, and I really liked that scene (not to mention that I watched Game of Thrones before writing this :P). I figured a little lightheartedness was necessary before shit gets real (though I guess shit got real when Cailan was killed so…shit gets __**really**__ real? I dunno…) so I written this chapter as appropriate, it'll get real in the next chapter though, don't you worry. The blood will flow. ^_^_

_Something did come to my attention though, one of my friends read the first chapter before it got published and then we got to talking about the plot and then she congratulated me for my cleverness. I asked her what she was talking about. She then pointed out to me that the title had something of a double meaning; you see, the sigil of the Cousland family is, of course, a laurel wreath (hence the 'Wreath of Highever'), and given this story's eventual nature as not only a political fic, but as a revenge fic also, she told me to take the 'e' out of wreath (and you end up with 'Wrath of Highever'). So yeah…unintentional cleverness on my part…good times!_

_I would like to thank Casis Mesolmelas, SuperGravyMan, Tactus, artsytechy, silverdragon1928, and slincoln1000 for choosing to follow and/or favourite this story. Thank you all!_

_Well, I'm going now. Stay tuned for chapter three! We'll bang, okay._


	3. A Family Together, a Family Lost

_**WARNING! Please read: **__The following chapter contains a section which implies (if not outright states) that a character has been raped, and brutally so. Also, the section involves the implied (again, if not outright stated) brutal death of a child. If either and/or both things upset you personally or otherwise make you uncomfortable, then please, skip past that particular section. The section in question is roughly around the beginning of the attack on Castle Cousland (I think you all know which part of the game I am talking about, and have written in this chapter). In any event, please accept my apologies if the section in question has upset you if you choose to read it (really, I am sorry), and I hope you at least enjoyed the rest of the chapter. Thank you for reading. _

_- Jonathan._

**The Wreath of Highever.**

**Chapter Three: A Family Together. A Family Lost.**

"And my dear Bryce brought this back from Orlais, last year," said Teyna Eleanor Cousland as she presented the jewelled necklace to her guests. "The marquis who gave it to him was drunk, I understand, and mistook _Bryce_ for the king!" She chuckled at the thought, as did one of her guests, Lady Landra, a dear friend of Eleanor's for many years. She was just about to talk some more to her guests about her husband's trip to Orlais when her daughter walked towards them. "Ah, here is my lovely daughter," she began, a loving smile gracing her daughter. "I take it then, that since the kitchen is now silent and your presence here that the situation there was handled?"

Of course, Mother! She wanted to say. Nan's head exploded and Dogmeat ate the kitchen staff! But at least somebody will have a full belly tonight. Instead, Elissa said something else, something which perhaps better befits a scion of the Cousland family. "Yes, Mother," she said. "Nan is back to work as we speak."

Eleanor smiled at her daughter. "You've always had a way with her," which was true, if anyone were to ask anyone who had been with the Cousland family ever since Elissa was a child. As much as Elissa confounds her sometimes, although not as much as her dog, Elissa Cousland had the acid-tongued old woman wrapped around her little finger since day one, though not in the bratty way of most children, indeed Elissa even sometimes considers her old nanny a part of the family.

"Darling, you remember Lady Landra?" she introduced her friend to her daughter. "Bann Loren's wife?"

"Yes," said Landra, "I think we met at your mother's spring salon." Elissa remembers that day well. Lady Landra was drunk, and had spent most of the salon either flirting with the more handsome of the castle's residents, and trying to play matchmaker with her and her son, none too successfully. "Of course," the young Cousland answered politely and bowing toward the older woman, "it's good to see you again, my lady."

"Oh! You're too kind," Landra smiled. "Though didn't I spend half the salon trying to get you to marry my son?"

A young man standing behind Landra coughed nervously. Her son, Dairren, Elissa believed his name was. As she remembered from that day, the young man was rather embarrassed at his mother's display. "And made a very poor case for it, I might add, Mother," he said, a fierce blush threatening to emerge from his face.

"You remember my son, Dairren?" Landra introduced her son, though she somehow found it necessary to add: _he's_ not married, either."

Good for him, Elissa thought. He seemed like a nice enough young man at the salon, but alas, Elissa is no more interested in him than she was then. What was it about people trying to match their sons with her today? That was the second offer she's had today, and neither seems all that attractive to her. Her dowry must be going up the roof with the amount of offers she has turned down. But Elissa knew that one day, in the not-too-distant future; she'll have to marry _someone_, if only out of pragmatism. But in truth, pragmatism was a very unattractive prospect to her. She has seen it all the time. It was the reason a lot of nobles enter into relationships. And not just in Ferelden, but throughout all of Thedas. They would get together, produce heirs, and then ignore each other, as if some warped business arrangement has been concluded, and the participants no longer want anything to do with each other. Elissa didn't want that for herself. She didn't want to be somebody's brood mare whose one purpose was to pop out children and then be ignored. She wants something like what her parents have, and what Fergus and Oriana have; a true, loving relationship. She wants to be with someone who would love her for _her_, for who she is, and not because her last name is 'Cousland'.

Elissa's musings were interrupted when Dairren spoke to her. "Don't listen to her," he said embarrassed for his mother, although as embarrassed as he was, Dairren still gazed upon the younger Cousland as if he was very much interested in her. "It's good to see you again, my lady. You are looking as beautiful as ever."

Well, isn't _he_ the charmer? "Thank you, ser," Elissa said, earning her a deeper shade of red from the young man's blush. It'll be as red as his hair if he didn't relax. "Oh, I'm not a 'ser', my lady," replied Dairren. "Not yet, anyway. I am hoping to squire for your father though."

Lady Landra then introduced Elissa to her elven lady-in-waiting, Iona. Who had declared that it was an honour to finally meet the lady Cousland, and she had described her as being as beautiful as her mother had described.

"And she says that after watching you in the training yard, whacking practice dummies and sweating like a mule!" She said glancing at the way the elven maid was looking at her daughter. It seemed as though she is currently harbouring a crush for young Elissa, she is certainly looking at her as if sharing her bed was an attractive thought for her. Not that there was anything wrong with that kind of thing, of course. While it seemed a little…_odd_ to see in Ferelden, there was nothing immoral about it. Even in Orlais, it was seen as a mere quirk in character, though in fairness having a session with two greased nugs, a lady pirate, a 'magic wand', and a dwarven transvestite was a quirk of character in Orlais.

"I was once the battle maiden myself, in my day, Elissa," she continued. Not the 'battle maiden' lecture again! Elissa exclaimed mentally. "But I think it was the softer arts that helped me land a husband."

"Yes, mother," Elissa said with the impatience of someone who has been told the same thing a hundred times. How many times does she have to say those exact same words to her, again and again? To say that it wore on her would be a colossal understatement. "I can handle my own affairs, thank you."

"All evidence to the contrary," retorted her mother. Unless… Eleanor glanced at Iona once more, and she wondered if her daughter would be interested in reciprocating sweet Iona's crush for her. It would certainly explain her lack of interest in being matched with anyone. But it seemed that her daughter does not return the maid's interest, or is oblivious to it, so what is wrong with the girl? Does she like men, or not? But Eleanor supposed that no matter who her daughter chooses to be with, she just wants her happiness.

Lady Landra had interrupted her dear friend's musings on her daughter. "I think, perhaps, I shall go and rest now, my dear," she embraced the teyrna and pecked her on the cheek, a display of friendship. "Dairren, I shall see you and Iona at supper," she faced toward Elissa with a friendly smile. "Good evening, your ladyship," she said.

"Good evening, Lady Landra," replied Elissa.

"Perhaps Iona and I shall retire to the study for now," Dairren said to his mother as she took her leave of the small gathering. When the young man bid his goodbyes to both Couslands and did the same, Iona flashed the younger Cousland a shy little smile before following, glancing back at the warrior as she left. Elissa caught the glance and gave the elf a small wave, just wondering why she was looking at her like that. Probably just being friendly, she supposed.

Now it was just the pair of them now. Eleanor flashed her daughter another smile. "I trust that your father told you that he wishes for you to remain here, my dear?" she asked brushing an errant lock of hair away from her daughter's face. "You haven't sulked at him, have you? I know how much you were looking forward to the trip."

Of course she has. "Maybe a little," she answered simply.

"I thought so," she smiled at her daughter. "You shall see Denerim again soon enough, I am sure."

"Have you seen Fergus?" Elissa asked. "I'm supposed to say my goodbyes."

"If he's not already with his men, I imaging that he'll be with Oriana and my grandson," answered the teyrna. Elissa nodded, "I'd better go, then," she was about to take leave of her mother, when Eleanor's hand holding her own had stopped her. She looked at her mother questioningly. "I love you, dear girl," the teyrna said suddenly. "You know that don't you?" Though as sudden as the words were, no one could miss the motherly love radiating from her eyes. Elissa wondered just what brought that on. Of course she knows her mother loves her, it was as plain as day. She gave a short laugh. "I love you too, mother," she said smiling. "But I'm hardly a girl any longer!"

"Indeed!" the laughter shone through Eleanor's golden voice. "I turn my back and here you are, a fine woman in her own right." She looked upon her daughter with pride. Despite her daughter's lack of interest in the finer arts, Eleanor Cousland was of the opinion that nobody else had as fine a daughter as she. She looks on her, and sees nothing but a bright future ahead of her. The teyrna smiled as her daughter pressed her lips upon her forehead. "I need to go now, mother," Elissa said. "Why don't you employ your prowess as a 'battle maiden' and rescue father from Arl Howe?"

The Cousland women shared a laugh before the younger one had taken her leave. Her daughter has a point; her husband does need to be saved from that horrible man, Rendon Howe – even if he is Howe's friend. Eleanor wondered – not for the first time – just what Bryce sees in the man. Still, it is time to rescue him from Arl Howe, like her daughter suggested, although she would try a more softer approach than her…'prowess'.

"I don't want to go, papa!" whined little Oren with tears in his eyes. "I don't want to go to Dennim!"

"Hush now, Oren!" said Oriana trying to calm her crying son. They were in their chambers preparing for Fergus to make the journey ahead of them, when an upset Oren had burst in declaring that he did not want to go to Denerim. It had taken almost every effort and solution they know as parents, but none of them seemed to have worked, little Oren is determined to remain at the castle.

"It's pronounced 'Denerim', son, and it's not _that_ bad," said Fergus, on one knee and stroking the boy's back, "and we'll be back in Highever in a few days.

"I don't want to see that stupid dead king!" declared Oren childishly, stomping one foot against the floor.

"Oren!" admonished his mother. "That is the king you are speaking of. Show some respect."

"Look, maybe we should leave him with his aunt, Oriana," suggested Fergus, his tone suggesting that Oren's temper tantrum might just be all part of some kind of demented plan of his, though Oriana seemed not to have noticed. "She _is_ staying at the castle, after all."

"Is someone speaking about me?" asked Elissa, entering the chambers, knocking. She spied the little boy crying. "Hey, Oren," she said, concerned for her nephew. She took one knee before continuing. "What's the matter?" she asked him.

"He doesn't want to go to Denerim," her brother answered for him. Elissa smiled at the crying boy. "Hey, I wanted to go to Denerim, but your grandfather wants me to stay!" Elissa wiped some of the tears from her nephews face, though new ones threaten to spill from his eyes. "You want to keep me company?" she asks him, and then glanced between her brother and sister-in-law, "if that's alright with you two, of course?"

"Of course that's alright, sis," answered Fergus, all too quickly. Oriana glanced at her husband as if she had finally cottoned on to what his plan might have been. The Antivan woman had a fairly solid idea as to what her husband was thinking, as what flashed in his eye for a brief moment might have confirmed it. Such a shame that it's not going to work out as well as he thinks. "He really should come with us –"

"I'm not going!" yelled the little boy. "I want to stay with Auntie Elissa!"

"_But_…" continued Oren's mother, before she was so rudely interrupted, "seeing as he is determined to stay, then yes, he shall stay." Before Oren – and his father, although covertly – could express his joy at such news, Oriana continued. "And _I_ shall remain with him," Oriana informed her husband. "Wait, what?" said Fergus, and Oriana had to stifle the great amount of smugness she felt as she saw the brief look on her husband's face, as if his plans have come crashing down and crumbled into dust.

"A child needs his mother, after all," she said, a sliver of smugness spilled out from her voice. "And I am sure that your sister would appreciate the company." A tiny smirk graced her attractive face.

"Alright, I am missing something here, aren't I?" said Elissa, confused.

"No, no," answered her brother quickly. "Nothing wrong here, is there, my love?"

"Nope," his wife dryly answered her sister-in-law, still smirking at her husband. "Why would there be, Elissa?"

"Auntie?" inquired little Oren, wiping the tears from his eyes. "What's 'alone time'? Is it when you have to be sent in the corner 'cause you're naughty?"

"Yeah, it is," answered Elissa, wondering just what prompted such a question. Oren hasn't been naughty, has he? "Why do you ask?"

"Well, I told papa I wanted to stay, and papa said he wanted some alone time with mama in Denerim, and he asked me to help him." Elissa looked at her brother with a cheeky look in her eye. Her brother, at least, had the decency to look shamefaced at his son's explanation. Fergus, she thought with a grin, you sly dog. And was this why Oren wanted to stay here? Shame on you for using your son like that! And on a time like the king's funeral, too. "Ah. I see," began Elissa, grinning at her nephew and ruffling his hair, "well, young man, your father certainly needs some time…_alone_… in Denerim," she almost succeeded in stifling the laugh threatening to emerge from her mouth. Almost.

"And of that, I wholeheartedly agree," Oriana replied, sharing a smirk with her sister-in-law.

"'Wholeheartedly agree' about what, dear?" asked Eleanor as she entered the chamber with her husband.

"Fergus thought it was a good idea to gain some 'alone time' with Oriana in Denerim," explained Elissa, enjoying her brother's discomfort, his hand palming his face. She was sure that she heard her brother mumble something along the lines of 'Maker, kill me now…' "And he has enlisted young Oren's services in helping him toward that goal."

Elissa heard a groan coming from behind her mother. She moved her head to the side, watching her father place palm in face just like her brother has. "Father!" she exclaimed, knowing exactly just he was thinking of. He was not thinking that his son had used trickery in order to enjoy a child-free stay somewhere and engage in intimacy with his wife, but that at some point in his life, Teyrn Bryce Cousland tried the very same thing with her mother. Like father, like son, Elissa supposed.

"Maybe this is not the sort of thing for little ears to hear," Oriana, ever the voice of reason, has suggested. Elissa nodded in agreement before ruffling the child's hair again. "Hey, Oren, Ser Gilmore is giving Dogmeat a bath," Oren's face lit up after hearing that, knowing automatically just how funny it was to watch the large hound resist every move made to even get _soapy_, "if you hurry, they might still be at it!"

Oren was out of those chambers like a lightning bolt.

And now that they were free of child's ears, the three Cousland women looked upon the head of the family, each with differing emotions. One was unsure she should even hear this, one was silently enjoying the drama of it all, and one did not find any of this amusing, at all.

"I, uh," Teyrn Bryce Cousland could speak in front of the king, and the entire Ferelden nobility, he could speak with foreign dignitaries and Chantry sisters of rank, but to be in the same room with his wife, daughter, and daughter-in-law, on a subject such as this, he found it difficult to find the words. "Roughly twenty years ago, I-"

His daughter saved him the embarrassment, Maker bless her soul. "Stop!" she said, the gestures she made speaking louder than her words. "I'm stopping you at 'roughly twenty years ago'. I don't need to listen to this!" She had that distinct feeling that this was one of those things that, when heard, could never be unheard. Bryce breathed a sigh of relief, though from the look of his wife and daughter-in law, said relief might just be temporary. "Err," the teyrn said, trying to choose between drawing out his relief and getting it over and done with, "at any rate, pup. Maybe it is best for you to turn in early, tonight. You have a busy few days ahead of you."

"Getting sent to bed _early_, are we?" as embarrassed as he felt right now, Fergus could not help teasing his sister. Elissa caught the smirk on his face and decided to wipe it away. "Goodbye, dear big brother. Enjoy your 'alone time' in Denerim," she retorted sweetly, successful in her task to wipe the smirk clean from her brother's face. Bryce turned to his son, "and you, Fergus," he began, "you need make your arrangements to leave for the capital, immediately."

"Yes, father, of course," Fergus couldn't get out of there quick enough.

"And I think I shall go rescue Roderick from my dog before turning in," said Elissa before taking her own leave, "I'll make sure Oren goes to bed, too." Before she left earshot of her parents and sister-in-law, she had heard her mother ask her father about 'twenty years ago'. "Maker, please kill me now," Elissa heard her father groan.

In the hours following the events of the day, night had fallen, and Elissa was sleeping peacefully in her chambers. Peacefully, at least, until Dogmeat had suddenly started barking. The young Cousland jerked awake at the sound of her dog, she sat up from her bed, groggily, rubbing the sleep from her eyes before seeing Dogmeat standing by the door, barking angrily. "Dogmeat?" she said tiredly. She had never seen her dog so angry before, he looked like he wanted to kill somebody if not for the door blocking his path. "What's the matter, boy?" Something must be wrong. Dogmeat seemed to ignore his mistress; instead, he was still intent on the door, his barks now becoming frantic. Elissa slipped out of her bed and walked over to her dog. Elissa hadn't even taken two steps before the door suddenly burst open and a man charged in her chamber.

"Milady!" the man cried. It was one of the servants, Elissa had seen. "Milady, please! You must help! The castle is under att-"

The servant's words were cut short by the crossbow bolt exiting his chest. He coughed up blood before collapsing to the floor, dead. Dogmeat barked angrily before charging the man's attacker. As Elissa reached for the sword by her bed, she could hear a man's screams amidst her dog's snarls. She unsheathed her sword as she exited her chambers, in time to see one man – a soldier - ready to plunge his sword into her faithful hound. She moved automatically, her training taking over her entire body, now ready to fight. She blocked the soldier's lunge for her dog, flicked his sword aside and swung for his throat. The spray of blood was hot on her face and her nightgown, her eyes widened at the thought that she had just killed a man. She looked down at this dead soldier – this dead _man_, and then looked at the blood on her sword – on her _hands_ – this was the first man Elissa Cousland had ever killed…and she did it without a second thought. Of course, she had been trained – and trained well – in the art of taking life, but training for it and actually _doing_ it were two completely different things, and not that she realised that she had just done it...

She didn't like it.

Elissa snapped out of it just as she heard the snapping of bone and the sickly wet sound of flesh being torn. She turned to see her dog – her sweet, friendly, loyal dog, who wouldn't harm a human being without a command from his mistress – quite easily tear the other soldier's throat out with his teeth. Elissa knew that Dogmeat was a trained war dog, a trained killer – just like me, Elissa thought – but to see the trained killer at work…it was brutal, to say the least.

Dear Maker, was all Elissa could think at this moment.

Elissa heard a door being unbarred and opening, and she automatically readied her sword for another fight, ready to kill anyone else wanting to harm her. Dogmeat raised his bloody snout to face this new assailant, growling viciously as he prepared to lunge for a new throat. Both of them had stopped when they realised that it was just Elissa's mother.

"Darling!" Eleanor exclaimed, both worry and relief that her daughter was still alive were clearly etched on the older woman's face. She embraced her daughter, unmindful of the blood covering her. When the teyrna had drawn back and saw the blood, she feared the worst. "You're bleeding!"

"No it…" Elissa turned to see her handiwork once more, "it's not my blood."

"Thank the Maker," Eleanor embraced her daughter again, so very thankful to the maker that her beloved daughter was unharmed and also very thankful that her daughter's training had played a part in it. Had her baby girl not been like every other noble daughter – as uninterested in the sword as they – Eleanor feared that she might have lost Elissa this night. "I heard fighting outside and I feared the worst."

"I'm fine, mother," Elissa was just as happy to see her mother unharmed. She left her mother's arms and inspected the soldier's corpses. "Have you seen your father? He didn't come to bed," her mother asked as she searched. "No, I was in my room," Elissa answered. "But we'll find him." Nothing seemed out of the ordinary when looking at them, though something did catch her eye when she saw the shield one of them was carrying. She did not notice it at first – she was more concerned with protecting Dogmeat's life – but she was horrified at what she saw emblazoned on this shield. Elissa grasped the shield from the dead soldier and shown her mother the face of the shield. She saw the look of shock emerge from her mother's face as she saw the emblem painted on, an indication of whose man these two soldiers belonged to.

The bear of Amaranthine, sigil of the Howe family.

"Th-these are Howe's men!" Eleanor could not believe it. Rendon Howe was a close friend of her husband, why would he possibly betray him like this? Beyond Eleanor's disbelief grew an intense rage for the arl of Amaranthine, and an equally intense desire to introduce him to a Cousland blade. "That bastard!" she snarled. "I'll cut his treacherous throat myself!"

"Agreed," growled her daughter, and then a thought occurred to her. What if Howe's men went into Fergus' chambers first? Andraste's mercy, Elissa thought as she glanced at the door, "Oren and Oriana…" she said, fearing the worst.

The two women watched the door to Fergus' and Oriana's chambers open. Out emerged one of Howe's men, sporting scratch marks on his face, wearing no armour – and in fact was shirtless, too – and fumbling with his breeches. He had finished tying his belt when he took notice of the sword coming straight for him. The man went down easily, a gaping stab wound where his heart lies. "Oriana?" Elissa called into the chambers, fearful of the worst. She entered slowly, not wanting to see what might lie ahead. Her worst fears were confirmed. Inside the chambers laid the bodies of her nephew and sister-in-law.

"Oh no…no… Not these two!" It was Oriana that Elissa had seen first, laying on the bed in an awkward position. Judging from the Howe soldier's state of undress as he emerged from the door, and the torn rags which was her sister-in-law's nightgown, she could tell that Oriana was violated in the worst manner. Maker guide you to Him, Oriana, she prayed as she rearranged Oriana's body into a more comfortable position, she then closed her dead eyes and kissed her on her swiftly cooling cheek. Soon after, she had seen her nephew's body. Elissa knelt down at her little Oren, had seen the gaping wound covering his tiny head, and she could determine precisely what would have caused such a wound. The bloodstained axe lying on the floor confirmed it. Elissa sobbed in despair, she couldn't stop the flow of tears pouring from her eyes, nor did she want to. He was just a little boy! An innocent little boy! _Why would Howe do this?!_

Eleanor entered the room shortly after and had taken the sight of her grandson. "No!" she knelt beside her daughter and took Oren in her arms. "My little Oren!" Eleanor hugged the little body to her tightly, sobbing as the rage overtook her. "What manner of fiends slaughters_ innocents_?!"

Elissa took Oren from her mother's arms and laid him beside Oriana, ruffling what was left of his hair for the last time as her tears flowed. She looked upon the bodies of her beloved nephew and sister-in-law, one of her closest friends, and she felt the flames of vengeance spark in her eyes. Howe isn't even taking prisoners. He means to slaughter every one of Elissa's family, just as he did her beloved Oren and Oriana. "I'll make him pay," she snarled dangerously, her anger blazing like an inferno. "If it's the last thing I do in this world, I will make Howe _pay_ for this!"

"Let's go," her mother sobbed, pulling her daughter from the chambers. "Let's get dressed and find your father, I don't want to see this."

Neither of them did. Instead both women returned to their respective chambers and hastily dressed. It had only taken Elissa a few minutes to throw something on, before she rejoined her mother and Dogmeat. The next few minutes were a red haze for Elissa. She, her mother and the dog hastily walked through the corridors of Castle Cousland, cutting down any and all of Howe's men stupid enough to get in their way. They aided her father's men, whenever and wherever they could, until they had neared the Cousland family vault. "Darling, wait," Eleanor stopped her daughter, who was covered in the blood of her enemies, they all were. The teyrna saw the unasked question in her daughter's eyes: 'why have we stopped?' "We're near the vaults," she explained.

"So?" asked her daughter, still not seeing why they stopped now, when Maker knows what happened to her father. "We need to find father!"

"I know, darling," the teyrna fished out a key from her pocket and approached the vault. "But the Cousland family sword is within this vault. Not only is it the most important thing in that vault to our family, it's also your birthright, and if anything is worth fighting to keep out of Howe's hands, it's that sword." The vault opened, and exposed the treasures of the Cousland family for all to plunder. Elissa waited almost impatiently while her mother retrieved the family sword. "Here, darling," her mother handed her the blade. It was ancient, almost as old as the Cousland family itself. It was forged in the days of King Calenhad, when her ancestor Elethea wielded it in the Silver Knight's service as he united all of Ferelden, four centuries ago. And it was as sharp as it was the day it was made. As Elissa grasped the ancient blade, she caressed with her fingers the sigil of her family, the laurel wreath of Highever, and it was then that Elissa had understood exactly why they had to stop, exactly what it was her mother had bestowed upon her. It was her birthright, her family's history and legacy, and something far too precious to be usurped along with the rest of Highever. And as precious as this sword was to her family, Elissa instinctively knew of another use for it.

This will be the blade which ends Rendon Howe's life.

The teyrna nodded in approval as her daughter strapped the family sword to her back. She wears it well, she thought with pride. That sword was meant for her. "If Howe's men are already inside," she finally said, "they must already have control of the castle." Elissa nodded in agreement. "We must find your father, and afterwards we must use the servant's exits in the larder to escape."

What? Elissa couldn't believe what she had just heard. Escape? What about killing Howe?! Elissa took a step back, "I want Howe dead!" she yelled at her mother, who took a step forward and placed her hands across her daughter's shoulders, calmly yet sternly. "Then _survive_," she told her daughter firmly, "and visit vengeance upon him. Now, we find your father, and escape through the servant's exits. Do you hear me?" Elissa reluctantly nodded. "I hear you," she said, deciding to grab a coin purse of gold sovereigns from the treasury. Something tells her that they would be in need of them since they are escaping. "Let's go," Eleanor nodded to her daughter. The following minutes passed just as it had before the swift detour to the vault. The small group cut down any and all who tried to kill them, until they were suddenly in the great hall of Castle Cousland.

"Go! Man the gates!" Ser Roderick Gilmore commanded his men as they scrambles to gather every table, bench, chair and anything else they could use to barricade the main doors to the hall. "Keep those bastards out as long as you can!"

As the Cousland soldiers did as their commander ordered, Ser Gilmore caught sight of his mistresses. "My ladies, you're both alive!" despite everything else, Ser Gilmore was overjoyed to see the Cousland women safe and sound. "I was certain Howe's men got through."

"They _did_ get through," replied Elissa. Howe, that treacherous bastard.

Gilmore shook his head, and then gestured to his men barricading the door. "When I realised what was happening, it was all I could do to shut the doors. But it won't keep Howe's men out for long. If you have another way out of the castle, use it quickly."

"We need to find my father, have you seen him?"

"When I last saw the teyrn, he was badly wounded. I urged him not to go, but he was determined to find you. He went towards the kitchen; I believe he thought to find you at the servant's exits in the larder."

"Bless you, Ser Gilmore," said Eleanor, feeling humbled at this young knight's loyalty. "Maker watch over you."

"Maker watch over us all," replied the knight as Elissa hugged him tightly. Ser Gilmore hugged back, just as tightly before he broke away and joined his men. Elissa knew that this might be the last time she would see her friend alive, and she too was humbled that he would lay down his life for her and her family. She will look forward to the day when she would repay such loyalty. The journey to the kitchens was, thankfully, a short one, one in which the group went by largely unmolested. Finally, they were at the kitchens. Eleanor had opened the door to the larder, when she saw her husband doubled over, and bleeding profusely from the stab wound in his side.

"Bryce!" the teyrna ran to her husband's side, Elissa joining them as she gasped. "Father!"

"Th-there you both a-are," said the teyrn weakly. He has lost a lot of blood. Dogmeat could smell the strong scent of it everywhere here. The Mabari barked sadly as the teyrn continued. "I w-was wondering when you g-get here."

"Maker's blood, what happened to you? You're bleeding!" cried Eleanor.

"Howe s-stabbed me," answered her husband before he coughed up some blood. "I was sure he'd done me in r-right then and there."

"We need to get you out of here father," Elissa moved to lift her father on his feet, but the teyrn shook his head. "I'm…I'm afraid I won't survive the standing, pup."

"That's not true! You'll be fine!"

"Ah…my darling girl," Bryce was so proud of his daughter, for trying to save him, even against all the odds. Like a Cousland should, and she was the greatest pride of those who came before her, that much he knew. But… "If only will could make it so."

"Then I'll carry you, myself!"

Eleanor wanted – _needed_ – so much for her husband to get up on his feet an escape with them. She never wanted to see him fade away in a pit like this. "Once Howe's men breach the doors they will find us. We must go!"

The teyrn nodded in agreement. _They_ must go. "Eleanor…Elissa. Y-you must go to Denerim. You have to warn Fergus, warn the q-queen of Howe's treachery. Tell them w-what has happened!"

"Bryce, no!" cried Eleanor, tears flowing from her eyes, unwilling to watch her husband go like this. She pointed toward the servant's exits. "The servant's passage is just that way. We'll find you healing magic!"

"The castle is s-surrounded. I c-cannot make it."

And then in that moment, Teyrna Eleanor Cousland had made her decision. A decision which would ensure her daughter's survival, if she went to escape _now_. "Darling," she began, looking at her daughter, "you and your hound must escape the castle on your own. I shall stay with your father and buy you the time to flee. Go to Denerim and warn your brother."

To stay here in this larder would mean certain death for the both of them. Elissa was going to be damned if her mother thinks she is just going to leave them here. She would rather face the might of Howe's army here than escape alone. "What?! No! I won't let you stay here and die! Either of you!"

"Eleanor…" Bryce looked up at his wife. "Are you s-sure?"

The teyrna affectionately stroked the side of her husband's face. "Hush, Bryce," Eleanor, said smiling at her husband, as if her final actions in this world shall be done without any regrets if it meant that their daughter would survive. Elissa's survival was infinitely more important to her than her own. "I'll kill every bastard that comes through that door to buy our daughter time. But I will not leave you."

The teyrn nodded reluctantly. His wife was a stubborn one, sometimes. There was no convincing his beloved otherwise once she had decided a course of action. That must be where Elissa gets it from. He just wished she was a little less stubborn this night, if it meant that she would live to see another day. The teyrn felt tears fall from his face as he gazed upon his beautiful daughter. This was the last time they would see her again...and it had to be like this. "Pup," he began, his words spoken with more clarity than ever before in his life. "Pup…my little pup. Do as your mother says."

"No!" Elissa said with tears in her eyes. "I'm not leaving until you both leave with me!" Dogmeat barked in agreement. The teyrn chuckled mirthlessly; she definitely gets it from her mother! His darling girl… Bryce used what little strength he had left to cup his daughter's face affectionately. He took notice of his daughter's new ownership of the Cousland family sword, and smiled weakly. "That sword suits you, pup," he said. "_Live_, and be worthy of it."

There was no way of convincing either of them to leave with her and Dogmeat. They were prepared to die, for _her_. She didn't want them to die for her. She didn't want them to die at all! But they want her to _live_, to live and exact vengeance on the man who betrayed them, who butchered their family like animals. It was all clear to her now, what she had to do. The most important thing of all was to ensure that Arl Rendon Howe does not profit from his treachery. If not, then he would surely make up any story he pleased to justify all of this, and would very likely sully their names – their _family_ name – forever in the process. He would most likely name their family traitors to Ferelden in front of the queen, and the Cousland name would forever be blackened for reasons it did not deserve. That cannot happen. That will not happen. She is a Cousland, and Couslands always did their duty, even in the face of hardship, and the duty before her was clear as crystal. Elissa grasped the hand which cupped her face, and pressed her lips against her father's palm. "I swear, father," she said, the emotion was choking her words. "I swear I shall relieve Howe of his head. My word as a Cousland."

"Then _go_, pup! Warn your brother, and know that we love you both. You do us proud."

Elissa hugged her parents for the last time before she made her way to the servant's exits, with Dogmeat following her. "I love you both, so much," were her final words to them as she disappeared through the door. Bryce shuddered in despair as his wife embraced him. He was getting weaker by the minute; he knew that he was going to die here, in this larder…and he was at peace with that. Bryce Cousland had learned how to die during the rebellion against Orlais…it was one of those things a man _had_ to learn in those days…but the idea of his Eleanor, his battle maiden – his beloved wife of many decades – dying here with him… "I'm so sorry it has come to this, my love."

"We had a good life," Eleanor said, stroking her husband's hair. "We did all we could. It's up to our children, now." Maker damn it all! This was not how it was meant to be! He was supposed to die many decades from now, in peace and surrounded by his wife and children…his _grandchildren,_ were he blessed with more than his little Oren. And when he finally passed, his son would have led their teyrnir as he and those who came before him have since before there was even a Ferelden. And Elissa…his dear Elissa. For all her warrior's training, his daughter deserved nothing but a life of peace, and happiness. She deserved a life of love, and family. But now she goes off, to survive this night, and the trials before her will not be easy. But she will live, she will overcome whatever trials await her, and she will make her mark on the world.

**End Chapter Three.**

_Author's Note: Well, here we go. Chapter three is done! Finally, I say! This is quite possibly one of the longest chapters I will ever write of anything, though I write this just knowing that I'll probably one-up myself at some point, I just know it. :P That being said, I felt very uncomfortable when I had written the scene where Elissa discovered Oriana's and Oren's bodies. My intention was to make their ends as brutal as they were senseless, at least in Elissa's and Eleanor's eyes, and I daresay I succeeded in that, as much as I do find it pretty sickening, personally (though I suppose I should be worried if I ever write something like that again and __not_ feel_ uncomfortable doing so). _

_But despite that one scene, I really enjoyed writing this chapter. Hopefully it depicted what I intended, one final glimpse of happiness for Elissa (at least for a while), right before it was painfully snatched away from her by one Arl Rendon Howe. The scene where Elissa kills her first man was possibly my favourite scene to write. Now, having never killed anyone myself, I have zero idea as to what it actually feels like. But I hope that her reaction to killing him was…if not accurate, then at least close to it._

_Anyway, I shall probably not be working on more of this for a week or so while I work on the next chapter of my other story: Mass Effect: Those Left Behind. I'll probably alternate between chapters now, unless inspiration strikes me at any point, of course._

_Before I go, I would like to thank The Dalish, KyleK12, and ironyismylife for choosing to follow my story, thanks much! ^_^_


	4. Welcome to Denerim

**The Wreath of Highever.**

**Chapter Four: Welcome to Denerim.**

In the dark of night, Elissa Cousland and her faithful Mabari hound ran for their lives. The image of her parents as she left them burned in her mind as she darted as fast as she could through the trees which had lain just a few miles beyond the city of Highever, where her family's castle sat. Elissa was exhausted. From fighting her way out of the castle, to evading Howe's troops in the city, escaping, running blindly through this bloody foliage – and leaving her family to die… No! Elissa could not afford to break down right now, she had to evade capture, and she had to survive.

She had to get to Denerim, and warn her brother, the Bannorn and the queen. She had to stop Arl Howe.

Suddenly, Elissa felt rough, gloved hands grab her from behind. She hadn't realised that there was anyone that close to chasing her down. But she was so exhausted; she probably wouldn't have noticed a charging horde of Darkspawn coming toward her. The man whose hands they belonged to forced her down with little to no effort. Exhaustion gave way to instinct; the adrenaline coursing through her veins gave her a renewed strength to resist this man who was now straddling her hips. She heard her dog snarl and tear at someone else, the man's fellow soldier, she imagined. But Dogmeat was still fighting, that was good. But then there was this man on top of her. She punched and clawed at him, like a trapped beast, but he used his superior strength to pin her arms to the ground. He leered dirtily at her, like she was a piece of flesh for him to do whatever he pleased; she knew what he wanted with her, before he dragged her off to whatever that bastard Howe had in store for her. Elissa remembered what happened with Oriana, and she would rather die than let that happen to her.

Better yet, she'd rather_ kill_.

But how? She couldn't reach for her sword – it was pinned against the ground by her back, and her arms were pinned down by his – he clearly had the advantage over her, so Elissa did one of the first things her arms masters taught her about combat: 'when facing an opponent who has the clear advantage over you, my lady, do the unexpected'.

And so she did the unexpected.

She gave this man a deep, passionate kiss.

The Howe soldier certainly didn't expect _this_ to happen. This Cousland bitch probably didn't want to die a virgin. She probably wanted a good fuck before she got sent to meet the Maker. Well, the Howe soldier thought as he grinned through Elissa's lips. I'm _more_ than happy to give her a good one!

He let go of one of her arms to loosen his pants. The time is now! Elissa used her free hand to press her thumb against one of his eyeballs. She bit down hard on his lips, and could taste the metallic tang of blood on her tongue. The soldier howled in pain as he let go of Elissa's other arm. The young Cousland's hand fumbled blindly across the ground, searching for a big stick, a rock, an angry dragon, _anything_ she could use. Her fingers grasped a nearby rock, large enough to barely get her hand across. Elissa gripped it tightly and swung her arm at the side of the soldier's head.

He grunted at he lost his balance over her. Elissa pressed the advantage and straddled the now prone soldier, rock in hand. Not even his reinforced leather helmet provided the adequate protection needed to guard his head from the heavy blows on Elissa's rock. As she pounded this bastard's face, all she could see was Rendon Howe. She could see his gloating face as he drank in his 'victory'. She envisioned that it was _Howe's_ face she was caving into a bloody pulp, instead of her would-be rapist. Traitor! Her mind growled as she kept hammering down with the rock. She was like a violent madwoman, or some dwarven berserker hewing away at his enemies with his axe. All she wanted to do at that moment was _kill_! You fucking traitor! You killed them! _You killed them!_ She smashed down at Howe's imaginary face. And again. And again, until there was nothing left of the soldier's face other than a bloody mess of meat and bone.

Elissa got up from the dead man and dropped the rock. As she looked down at his corpse, she felt physically ill. She had fought and killed her way toward this point, she had seen so much death – of her enemies, her servants and friends…Oren and Oriana… And she had just escaped violation at this bastard's hands…had killed him in such a brutal manner that not even a rabid animal deserved such treatment.

Bile threatened to rise up from her throat, and so she brought a hand up to her mouth in an effort to keep it down. It didn't work.

After she chucked up the contents of her stomach – what little that was – and wiped her mouth, Elissa's eyes searched for Dogmeat. She sighed in relief as she saw the brave war dog trot towards her, covered in blood, but otherwise unharmed.

"You had me worried there, boy," she said, kneeling down to stroke her dog's head. Dogmeat barked happily, as if telling her that he was alright. He then whined, as is inquiring as to whether she was alright. "I'm alright, Dogmeat," Elissa kissed a spot on his head which wasn't covered in blood, and Dogmeat reciprocated by licking her cheek. "I'm just a little tired."

Elissa heard the rustling of dead leaves behind her. Footsteps came towards them hurriedly. More of the bastards were coming; she could see that from the faint light of torches which was getting stronger as they closed in on them. Dogmeat growled at them. The Mabari still wanted to fight. Despite the fact that they could ill afford another confrontation, Elissa was inclined to agree. If they kept on running, what little strength she had left would be diminished, and she could not fight them off then. They needed to end this now, but they needed to play it smart, also. "Through the trees," she commanded her Mabari, pointing to one direction while moving toward another. Dogmeat barked affirmatively as he ran toward the direction Elissa had pointed toward.

Elissa unsheathed her family sword as she hid behind one of the trees. "Spread out!" she heard one soldier's voice. It was a woman's. "That Cousland wench has to be here somewhere, she couldn't have gotten far!"

That much was true, she thought as she leaned from the tree to see what numbers she faced. She counted three of them, at least as much as she could see from the torches. Each of them was going in different directions. One of them moved toward Dogmeat's position. Another kept going forward, and the other – the woman – moved toward her. The woman soldier plunged her torch into the ground, using its light as some kind of…beacon, Elissa supposed, as she searched the nearby area.

She wasn't far from Elissa's position now. The young Cousland gripped her sword tightly, ready to strike. The soldier turned behind her as they heard a man screaming. It was Dogmeat's handiwork, Elissa knew that. But it provided a welcome distraction, an opportunity to dispatch this one without drawing attention to her. She sneaked toward the Howe soldier, careful not to alert her to her presence. And like a viper her sword arm wrapped itself around the soldier's throat, the other grasped the base of her skull.

And then she twisted, hard. She felt the bones in this woman's neck snap wetly. It reminded Elissa of one of her father's soldiers she often sparred with, who had a habit of popping the bones in his neck before a match. Unfortunately, this had a more deadly twist to that memory, but at least it was a quiet kill. Carefully she laid the dead woman on the ground, and then stalked toward the remaining soldier. She could track him easily, thanks to the light of his torch, and the relatively loud sound of his footsteps. Closer and closer she advanced toward the last soldier, who was preoccupied by the snarling Mabari and the screams of his friend. When the time came, Elissa swung her sword, severing his head from his shoulders. He fell lifelessly as she ran toward the noise her dog was making.

Dogmeat was done with his kill by the time she had gotten to him. She fell to her knees and hugged him with all her strength. "Come on," she said before releasing him. They had run through the trees and foliage until neither of them had the strength to continue. Thankfully, neither of them had seen nor sensed anyone else following them, and there was a nearby outcrop of rocks they could take shelter from. They could get some rest here. Unfortunately, Elissa could not build a fire, not even a small one, on the off chance that there were still some Howe soldiers out there. But the night was becoming bitterly cold, both of them needed to stay warm, somehow. Elissa sat with her back against the rocks and knees bunched up, and then she huddled against Dogmeat, throwing an arm against his large shoulders. The Mabari, of course, was more than happy to cuddle up to his mistress and rest for a little while. He chuffed appreciatively at her and she gave him a small smile, the first one since this terrible night.

This terrible night. Images came to Elissa's mind of the attack on Castle Cousland. The deaths of Oren and Oriana, the deaths of her parents…and all the people who served her family, people they had sworn to protect. It had become too much for the young Cousland, as the tears emerged like a torrent from her eyes. She sobbed uncontrollably, remembering all the tragedy of this night with perfect clarity. She felt a gentle nudge on her tear-stained cheek. It was Dogmeat, Maker bless his soul. He whimpered quietly at his mistress, as if he too had lost a family this night. In Elissa's eyes, he had, he was as much a part of the Cousland family as her brother was. Poor dog. Elissa shook her head at him, and then wrapped her arms around him as her cries had become more severe. Dogmeat just sat there, sharing with her all the comfort and love that he could muster for her. For she was his mistress, his pack-mate, his best friend in all the world. He wanted so much to share in her pain, so that she would be spared it, and so he let out a single quiet, yet mournful howl at the night sky.

The sun was high up in the sky when Elissa had decided to wake up. She felt uncomfortable, and then realised why. She had fallen asleep still holding onto her faithful hound, and Dogmeat, of course, was resting his large head against her shoulder. So that's why her shoulder aches, bloody dog. Her movements had awoken the big Mabari, and he gave her cheek a small lick, wishing her a good morning. Elissa gave his head an affectionate stroke before getting up and stretching. Dogmeat heard her stomach growl, his mistress was hungry. Thankfully, he had caught an interesting scent, one which, to him, said 'food!' Elissa watched her dog trot away from her. The Cousland woman wondered what her dog was up to, and made her way to follow him. Dogmeat stopped and turned to his mistress, giving her a series of somehow conversational barks. Does he want me to stay here? Elissa wondered, and then decided to do as her dog 'said' and stay. He wouldn't stray too far from her anyway. Dogmeat barked again, appreciatively, and then continued to move away from her, sniffing the air and ground as he did so.

It wasn't long, maybe an hour, before Dogmeat returned to his mistress with his prize firmly clamped within his jaws.

A wild rabbit.

Breakfast.

Elissa gave a small laugh. "You are such a sweet dog," she said, receiving breakfast from his jaws. Dogmeat gave her a happy bark, entirely too pleased to put a smile on her face. It wasn't too much effort to clean and dress the rabbit, and then preparing to cook it, and not long after, Elissa and her dearest dog had breakfast. There wasn't much meat on the little rabbit, but to both of them it was a feast of all the ages right about now.

When breakfast was done, both of them had made their journey south, eventually exiting the woodland and into a clearing. Elissa had seen a farmstead in the distance, and wondered if she could buy a horse. It would certainly be easier to get to Denerim that way. But then a thought occurred to her, Howe's men are still searching for her. No doubt they will look there. But they need to get to Denerim, as quickly as possible. She looked down at the pouch of sovereigns tied to her belt, and an idea came to her.

Elissa had saddled and stolen a horse from the farmstead's barn and some fresh clothes from the line – probably belonging to a teenage son of whoever lives here – she quickly redressed and made off with the horse, leaving the farmers the pouch – minus a few coins – as recompense, it was likely more wealth than these good people would see in a year, certainly more than what a horse and peasant's clothes were worth.

Elissa dumped her old clothes on the road, a couple of miles into the journey, and then nudged the horse to run at a faster pace. In her eagerness to reach the capital, she hadn't noticed the heavy, laboured breathing of her dog. She stopped the horse, and took notice of Dogmeat struggling to stay with her. Elissa felt a heavy wave of guilt as she dismounted and rubbed his chest. "I'm sorry, Dogmeat," she said. She gave him time to rest, and remounted, now travelling at a pace that Dogmeat could keep up with easily. She needed to reach the capital quickly, but she wasn't going to kill her dog to get there.

The rest of the day later, and all of the next two, Elissa and Dogmeat had finally reached the capital of Ferelden. She had been here before, as a child. To her, it was full of wonders. The royal palace. Fort Drakon, and the market district. She remembered walking the city's streets with her brother and some of his friends, such as Bann Perrin, and the Arl of Denerim's son. She remembered watching in secret the argument Fergus had with Bann Vaughan, and her brother knocking him on his arse, signifying the end to their friendship. He wouldn't tell her why, but judging from what she heard the kind of man the young bann grew up to be, she could probably determine with accuracy just what the argument was about.

But now that she was here, Elissa wondered just what was so wondrous about Denerim now? Now, all she could see were fishwives and drunkards getting pissed on by their friends. Was she really so naïve? Of course she was, she was a child.

"Welcome to Denerin," Elissa said to herself before moving her horse forward.

Elissa and Dogmeat moved with haste toward the royal palace. She dismounted and approached the gates, which were guarded by two soldiers. "Halt!" one of them said, with his hand on his sword. "No admittance to the palace for common folk!"

Common folk? Oh… Elissa looked down at the garb she pilfered from the farmers back in her family's teyrnir. But how she was dressed was irrelevant. "Let me pass," Elissa commanded them urgently, "I seek an audience with Queen Anora."

"And I wanna fuck Elissa Cousland for all the good it does me!" the other guard said, laughing. "I was at the tourney in Gwaren, she's a right beauty! Phwoar!"

"Excuse me?" Elissa did not believe what she was hearing. If he had seen her in Gwaren, then surely he would have recognised her face. Obviously not, unless he was lying about being there to impress his friend. And to hear that this man wanted to have sex with her…especially days after what would have been her fate. She wanted to tear this man's head off.

"Piss off, girl!" the first one sneered. "Go back to whatever tavern whore who birthed you and earn some coin on yer back."

That does it! Elissa headbutted one guard in the nose, kneed him in the groin, and smacked him across the face with a forearm. To the other, she buckled his knee hard with her leg and moved behind him, unsheathing her sword to place directly under his neck. "You want to _'fuck'_ me?!" she snarled, pressing the blade deeper against his neck. She saw several other guards emerge from their posts, swords drawn, ready to confront her, demanding that she surrender or be killed. Dogmeat growled at the intruders, and Elissa had to announce her intentions to the guards. "I am Elissa Cousland of Highever," she began. "Daughter to Bryce and Eleanor, and sister to Fergus. I have urgent news for the queen and my brother, and I am asking…_politely_…" The guard she held hostage felt the blade bite into his skin. "To be allowed passage into the palace."

The Landsmeet hadn't gone on for long. But for Bann Teagan Guerrin of Rainsfere, it had felt like an eternity, listening to Teyrn Loghain drone on and on about the announcement of his regency to Queen Anora in light of the king's unfortunate death. How dare he? There hasn't been the appropriate period of mourning, Maker's breath; the king's ashes aren't even _cold_, yet! And Loghain immediately called this Landsmeet into session and told everyone present that he is now the ruler of Ferelden! What gall!

"And I expect each of you to provide oaths of fealty to this regency," said Teyrn Loghain, from the balcony where he stood beside the queen. "Now more than ever, do we, as free Fereldans need a show of _unity_. With King Cailan dead, we have no heir to the throne, and even now our neighbours are sharpening their knives to butcher this nation's carcass. We need to show them that despite our weakened state, that we are a strong country, and I believe that with you, this regency will do just that!"

The lords and ladies present at this Landsmeet murmured to one another. Most likely voicing precisely what Bann Teagan was thinking. Does Loghain honestly think he could get the Bannorn lords and the Arls to bend the knee, simply because he _told_ them to? Not even a king, even with his own army, could _force _the Bannorn what to do. The Orlesians had made the same mistake, and now the Hero of River Dane is making the exact same one. Did Loghain not learn from Ferelden's history? And the timing of Loghain's announcement… Teagan dreaded to think, but did he have something to do with Cailan's death? The bann of Rainsfere had to admit, Loghain certainly has a lot to gain from the king's death.

Teagan needed to voice his concerns. "Your grace," he began, stepping forward to address the teyrn. "If I might speak?"

Loghain nodded in the affirmative.

"You are right, of course, your grace. King Cailan is dead; Ferelden has no prince to replace him. Maybe…_maybe_…our neighbours _are_ sharpening their knives."

"Yes, yes," said Loghain impatiently, "get on with it, Bann Teagan."

Teagan nodded. "You have declared yourself as Queen Anora's regent," he nodded respectfully toward the queen. Anora nodded back, and then turned to see a guard enter the throne room via the balcony to whisper something in her father's ear. Loghain nodded to the guard and then gestured for Teagan to continue. "You have declared yourself as the queen's regent," he continued, "and claimed that we must unite under your banner…for our own good."

Loghain's face darkened, as if he knew just what the bann was harping on about.

"But you have to admit that, for you, Teyrn Loghain, the king's death was most…_fortuitous._"

The voices within the throne room grew louder with gasps of disbelief and yells of outrage, both for the bann that had accused – however veiled – the regent of conspiracy to murder the king, and for the teyrn, whose accusations toward him might be true. Loghain's face had darkened even further. "Just what is it you are telling me, Teagan?" he demanded with a scowl on his face. "Are you honestly suggesting that the regent of Ferelden had the king killed?"

"You have to admit, Loghain, that is a possibility," answered Teagan. "I understand that were the king's death an assassination, and not the bandit attack we were led to believe, then you would be the one who would benefit most from the results."

"Well then 'understand' this," Loghain grasped the wooden railing on the balcony where he stood, anger etching his proud Mac Tir features. "Everything I have done, I have done for the good of Ferelden."

"That is not a denial," said Bann Teagan, and then came more of the outrage from the Bannorn lords. "No, it's not," replied Teyrn Loghain. "Nor is it an admission of my supposed crimes. I have not shirked my duty to the throne, and I _demand _that neither of you shall either."

The outrage from the lords and ladies was palpable, now. "The Bannorn will not bow to you, simply because you 'demand it'!" scowled Teagan. Suddenly, the doors to the throne room had opened, those present in the throne room all turned to see the young woman dressed in peasant garb escorted inside by guards. She carried a sword and was accompanied by a large Mabari hound. Sweet Andraste, wasn't that Bryce Cousland's youngest?

The throne room was silent as the lady Cousland approached the balcony and bent her knee toward the queen. "Your majesty," she began before standing back up. "I am the Lady Elissa Cousland of Highever, and I have come with grave news."

"Yes?" prompted the queen, curious to hear what this young lady has to say.

"A few days past, Arl Rendon Howe had paid a visit to my father at Castle Cousland, in preparation to ride to Denerim for the King's funeral." Anora nodded for Elissa to continue. "The following night, the castle was attacked by soldiers who had penetrated the castle's defences from within. Soldiers bearing Howe's sigil."

The lords and ladies each gasped, unbelieving that Arl Howe would betray his only friend in Ferelden! Elissa ignored the outrage and continued. "My family has been slaughtered. My nephew met his fate with an _axe_! My sister-in-law was _violated_ before she died! Maker knows what Howe did to my parents! Your majesty, my family were loyal servants to the crown, and I beg you to mete out justice to Arl Howe and for my family. I ask that he be executed for his crimes."

The throne room became silent, aside from the slow clapping coming from Loghain. "A good show, my lady Cousland," he said. "Truly, a performance worthy of the bards."

"Your grace?" asked Elissa in confusion and a hint of anger. Her family was butchered and Loghain calls it a _performance_? Has he been partaking in poppy?

"You say that Arl Howe betrayed and murdered your family? Do you wish to know what I say?"

Oh no…was Loghain in on it? Was the queen?

"I say," the teyrn continued, "that Arl Howe has provided me with proof that your father was going to sell Ferelden out to the _Orlesians_!" The crowd gasped and cried once again, a lot of those present had fought against the Orlesians, or had fathers who did. Her father was among them, for goodness sake! Surely they could not believe Loghain's lies?! But then again, Loghain had fought as well…

"I say that Arl Howe did what any good patriot did, and rid this country of _traitors_!"

Rid this country of... Her thoughts quickly went to her brother. "Where is my brother?" she demanded. "What did you do to Fergus?!"

"Your brother has met his fate," he said with a voice of a man that displayed great satisfaction toward ridding his house of pests. "As shall you!" He leaned forward, over the balcony and regarded the lady Cousland like he would an insect. "As regent to the throne of Ferelden, I hereby charge you and your family with treason! I hereby strip you of all ranks, and all titles! You are no longer a lady! Nor is your father a teyrn! Your lands and holdings are hereby transferred to the rulership of the Howe family, and Rendon Howe shall rule Highever as Teyrn! And you… I hereby sentence you to a life imprisonment in Fort Drakon! _Guards_! _Seize this traitor_!"

**End Chapter Four.**

_Author's Note: Chapter four done! Yey! I'm actually amazed that I brought this chapter out so soon after I had just published a new chapter for my other story (if you haven't already, then please check it out! a shameless plug, I know…). I must have been really eager to put this down, or something!_

_I really enjoyed writing this down, but I admit to some discomfort to writing what would have happened to Elissa in the word had she not bashed that dude's face in, but I think I had stated what makes me uncomfortable when writing the darker scenes. Believe me, I have no problem with writing in violence and murder and sexy times and such (I am a GRRM fan after all), but rape and child death? Nah._

_But despite that small part (I loved writing the part where she actually killed that guy with the rock though…__**fucking DIE!**__), the rest of it was fairly amazing to write if I'm honest. And the Landsmeet was really enjoyable, especially the part where Elissa realises that Loghain was in on it. And cliffhanger ending! I somehow have a good share of those in my writing…I don't know why… ^_^_


	5. Escape and the Wardens

**The Wreath of Highever.**

**Chapter Five: Escape and the Wardens.**

Guards poured into the throne room at Loghain's command. Their swords were drawn, and they were fully committed to capturing Elissa and sending her to condemnation at Fort Drakon. Elissa could scarcely believe it. Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir, the Hero of River Dane, one of her father's comrades in the rebellion…was Rendon Howe's accomplice in her family's destruction. Why would he do such a thing, ally with that bastard? She recalled Loghain referring to himself as 'Regent of Ferelden'…so was it for power? The throne? But he was a teyrn, his daughter is the queen…Andraste's arse, his son-in-law was the _king_! How much power could he possibly _want_? And then there was Howe… Of course he did what he did, when he had done it! That coward wouldn't have the _backbone_ to attack Highever if it meant that he had to answer to King Cailan! And now that Cailan was dead… Anger surged through Elissa as she took in this new information, as she realised that this ran deeper than she anticipated. She had thought that it was just Howe's betrayal, but… Loghain _allowed_ Howe to take the castle! Loghain _allowed_ Howe to murder her family!

Loghain and Howe are dead men!

"Come on, then!" She screamed a war cry as she unsheathed her sword and charged at the nearest guard approaching her. The lords and ladies present were mesmerised as they watched this young woman move fluidly, unhindered by heavy armour and swinging and cleaving a bloody swath through the heavily armed and armoured men sent to apprehend her. All of them wanted to leave before she turned her sight towards them, but…their feet stayed where they were, and their eyes were glued to this…_thing_…this warrior goddess make a mockery of what was supposed to be Denerim's finest. And her dog. Many of them had seen Mabari hounds in action before, during the war. Some of them even own Mabari hounds. But this one was like a wolf among mongrels, all tightly corded muscle and powerful jaws, and teeth which looked like they could pierce armour! They watched as the former Lady Cousland grabbed one guard and used him as a human shield as crossbowmen took aim from the balconies and loosed their bolts. The guard shuddered as the bolts pierced his armoured chest, and he suddenly became dead weight.

Elissa knelt down, watchful of anyone who had the stones to approach her as she commandeered the dead guard's shield, strapping it to her own arm. Dogmeat growled at the new group of soldiers which had entered the throne room. Elissa glared at them, in particular the armoured woman which accompanied them. She had worn a helmet, which prevented Elissa from recognising her initially, but there was a clue which gave away her identity. She was brandishing an Orlesian greatsword, as long as a man was tall – it was a sword which Elissa recognised as the 'Summer Sword', Ser Cauthrien's personal blade. Elissa knew of Teyrn Loghain's lieutenant and right-hand woman. She had met the knight years ago, at the tourney at Gwaren, and had even fought against her. Elissa, of course, was in face quite soundly defeated by the seasoned knight. Cauthrien was like a woman-shaped siege engine when they had fought. Cauthrien was tenacious, unrelenting, and powerful; hammering away at her defence with that heavy greatsword, until finally Elissa had fallen.

Elissa doubted that the years would have been unkind to Ser Cauthrien since then. Nor did she have any real desire to test that theory.

And so, Elissa did what anyone would do when faced with a clear disadvantage; the unexpected.

The former Lady Cousland grabbed the nearest noble to her, pressing the blade of her sword against the base of his neck and shielding his body with her newly commandeered shield. "Move and he dies!" she growled. Dogmeat barked at the soldiers in agreement. Elissa looked up at the crossbowmen readying fresh bolts. "Don't even think about it!" she demanded, placing emphasis on her sword. "I_ will_ kill him!"

"So kill him," replied Teyrn Loghain, almost bored with this turn of events. He wanted Elissa Cousland in chains, and he was willing to spend the lives of as many useless nobles as he had to in order to achieve that goal. The Bannorn lords and Arls present howled in outrage that the man who would be Regent all but declared one of their own to be expendable. Loghain didn't much care; they would either fall in line or be destroyed. "Ser Cauthrien, do your duty and arrest her!"

"Yes, Regent!" acknowledged Cauthrien, gripping her sword tightly. "Alright, men! Surround her! She won't get away."

Right, Elissa thought, well this didn't go as planned, did it? For all her bravado, Elissa didn't really plan to kill her hostage. For all that she knew this man was innocent in this conspiracy. Well, since hostage taking obviously didn't work, she determined to let him go and take her chances with the woman-shaped siege engine.

But it seemed that the Maker had a sense of humour, as the queens voice echoed in the throne room.

"Halt!" she commanded the knight. "Ser Cauthrien, allow her passage out of the palace."

"What are you doing?" her father hissed at her, grabbing her elbow.

"If she kills Bann Teagan, his brother will want to know why," explained the queen, releasing her elbow from her father's grasp. "Do you wish to _explain_ to him why?"

The regent scowled, furious that his daughter would defy him, even if she was the queen. "I don't fear Eamon," he growled, before turning his attention to his lieutenant. "Cauthrien, I gave you an order! Do as I command!"

"Ser Cauthrien, my father may be regent," Queen Anora began, glaring at both the knight and her father. She still holds the crown of Ferelden, she still sits on the throne, and she _will_ be obeyed. "But I am still the queen of Ferelden!" she continued, her voice giving to indication that disobedience would be tolerated. "Obey me, or face the consequences. Let, her, go."

Reluctantly, Ser Cauthrien moved out of the way for the traitor to escape with her hostage. "Yes…my queen," she grumbled quietly. Cauthrien was of the opinion that Ferelden would be in better hands if Anora would just step aside and allow her father to rule. She was skilled in statecraft, and a good queen, that was true, but without a king, this country was like a wild dog, and wild dogs needed a stern master to break it. A master like hers. "Thank you, your majesty," Cauthrien heard the traitor speak, bowing as much as she could with her hostage in tow. "Let's go, Dogmeat," she continued, "watch my back, okay?"

The dog barked in obedience as he took point. Cauthrien and the traitor glared at one another as she slowly backed away from them and exit the throne room, with Bann Teagan in her grasp.

"She is a threat to Ferelden!" howled Teyrn Loghain to his daughter, who wasn't particularly concerned with the woman she had just let go. "She is just one woman, father," she replied, "and she had just taken Arl Eamon's brother hostage. Do you really think she would find allies enough to actually _be_ a threat to Ferelden, now?"

"Do you really think you could get away with this, my lady?" asked Bann Teagan in a strangled voice, struggling to keep up with the pace his captor was keeping as she backed away from the guards. That she has him by the neck and was shorter than him by a great deal just exacerbated the matter.

"Maybe, maybe not," answered the former Lady Cousland, "but that doesn't mean that I shouldn't try. Loghain and Howe are the real traitors here, and I'll fight them with all my strength to see their heads roll, even if it costs me my life."

Teagan nodded in admiration, as much as he could, given his predicament, and then an idea came to him. If Loghain was dead set on forcing the Bannorn and the Arls to bend the knee to him, there will be civil war. If so, the Lady Cousland may prove to be a valuable ally. He had to see that she goes to his brother. Eamon will know what to do with her. Now if she could hear the message in his next words… "How far do you think you'll _get_? When word reaches _Redcliffe_, my brother _Eamon will ensure_ that nowhere will provide _safety_ for you! No one will _provide you shelter_! No _asylum_! And no _allies will come to aid you_!"

Elissa had noticed that her hostage – who she realised, was Bann Teagan of Rainsfere, brother to Arl Eamon Guerrin – was speaking strangely. She might have attributed that to the grip she has on the man's neck, but…something was telling her to pay attention to the words the bann had placed such strange emphasis on.

**Get. Redcliffe. Eamon will ensure. Safety. Provide you shelter. Asylum. Allies will come to aid you.**

It was a message! Elissa realised that the one man she held hostage was potentially a friend to her cause! She wanted to kiss the man, but alas her predicament had put a damper on that notion. She still had to get out of Denerim. Elissa nodded covertly, and leaned her head against his to whisper in Bann Teagan's ear. "When I let you go," she began, "please send word to your brother that I will travel to Redcliffe to seek his help. If you know of potential allies, please seek them out. And find my brother, if you can." Teagan nodded in acknowledgement. Minutes of twisting and turning through corridors later, Elissa, her dog and her hostage found themselves moving past the gates to the palace, amidst the shocked stares and gasps of the populace. "Andraste guide you, Lady Cousland," Teagan whispered. Elissa nodded, and then let him go, bolting into the crowd with her dog.

"After that bitch!" Elissa heard one sergeant yell as she ran through the narrow streets and dirty alleyways of Denerim. She took shelter where she could, behind houses and piles of refuse. For what seemed like forever, the game of cat and mouse had ended, and Elissa and Dogmeat had finally evaded the guardsmen. But they could not rejoice in their success, they still had to escape the city. A feat which was surprisingly easy to do, the gate guards apparently had no orders to search anyone leaving the city. Either that or orders hadn't reached them yet. Either way, Elissa had to count her blessings as she simply walked out. It was a shame that she had no horse now; she left hers back at the palace and stealing another one would most likely draw unwanted attention towards her. No matter, Elissa will find a way to get to Redcliffe, somehow.

She had decided to reach the arling via the southern road. The north placed her too close to Highever and Amaranthine, where Howe's troops were no doubt still searching for the missing Cousland. Elissa would likely find some transport, or even a new horse at South Reach or Lothering. A full day on the road, Elissa heard the sound of horses behind her. Could Loghain's men have found her this quickly? Dogmeat sniffed the air and barked at his mistress. "What is it, boy?" she asked. "Loghain's men?" To answer her question, Dogmeat ran in the direction the horses were coming from. "Wait!" she yelled, grasping her sword but not unsheathing it, yet. Dogmeat stopped as soon as the horsemen came into sight. They were not Loghain's men, thankfully. Elissa squinted her eyes to make out just who these men were if not Loghain's. As the horsemen drew near there was one thing which drew Elissa's attention. The insignia emblazoned on their breastplates was that of a Griffon.

A Griffon…

Grey Wardens!

The Warden's stopped just short of Elissa's position. The one in front – whom Elissa assumed was the leader – trotted his horse towards her and held out his hand in greeting. "Hello there, friend!" he said, smiling at her. He was an older man, perhaps in his fifties or sixties. Dusky skinned, like a Rivaini, but he spoke the King's Tongue like a native Fereldan, and one from Highever to be exact. "If I may ask, is this the road to the Korcari Wilds?"

Elissa shook her head. "There _are_ no roads to the wilds," she answered. "But this_ is_ the road south. If you follow it far enough you can reach the ruin of Ostagar, from there, getting to the wilds is simple enough. Or if you fancy the scenic route, take the road to Gwaren, and go west from there."

The Rivaini – or Fereldan – man nodded in gratitude to the young traveller. And then he frowned. "The road is no place for a young woman, such as yourself, to travel alone," he said.

"I can take care of myself, friend," she said with a hint of annoyance and tapping the pommel of her sword with one hand. "And I'm not alone." Dogmeat barked in agreement. The Grey Warden chuckled, nonetheless. "So it would seem!" the old man smiled. "But you are welcome to share the road with us. Where is it you are travelling?"

Elissa couldn't give this Warden an honest answer, could she? Grey Wardens were forbidden to interfere with local matters; their only concern was the darkspawn. She could say that she was travelling to Redcliffe, but if Loghain's men questioned them where she went at any point of their journey, their vow of non-interference _might_ just compel them to answer truthfully. Elissa didn't want to lie to the Warden but…needs must. "I'm going home, ser," she answered falsely, "to South Reach."

The Warden looked at her funnily, as if he could see through her lie. But suddenly the old man grinned. "Excellent!" he said. "South Reach is on our way. Please! Share the road with us; you are certainly most welcome to do so."

Well…it would be good to travel with someone else who can provide Elissa with a conversation which didn't consist of the many variations of barking. She nodded in the affirmative. "Alright," she said smiling, "to South Reach then." The Warden nodded. "My name is Duncan," he said pointing to himself, and then to his companions. "This is Daveth, Jory, and Alistair."

"Ellie," she lied. Well, technically it wasn't a lie. 'Ellie' was the short form of 'Elissa', a short form which Elissa didn't particularly care for. Didn't she slap Ser Gilmore once for calling her that when they were children? She couldn't remember. But still…needs must. "Pleased to meet you."

"And you, dear girl." Duncan turned his head toward his companions. "Alistair!" he called, and a young blonde man moved his horse toward them. "Alistair, this is Ellie," he gestured to the young woman. "She will be accompanying us as far as South Reach. She will ride with you."

Alistair nodded at Elissa. "Awkward ride with a lovely young lady, coming right up!" the younger of the Warden's said as he offered Elissa his hand, which she took and was pulled up to be seated in front of him. "Uh, just so you know… that's my sword poking into you," he said with a charming blush emerging from his cheeks. "Um, not that I'm not happy to see you or anything! I am! Uh…that sounded _way_ less creepy in my head…shutting up now."

Elissa gave a short laugh to this awkward young Warden. "You haven't had much experience talking to women, have you?" she asked, good-naturedly. "I was…raised in a Chantry," explained Alistair, as if that would explain everything about his lack of experience with women. Maybe it did. But dear Maker was Ellie pretty! Best not work on that crush too hard, Alistair! Chances are you won't see her again when they reach South Reach. "Well…I was raised in Redcliffe first, but then the Chantry came afterward."

"Enough, Alistair," said Duncan sternly. "We are wasting valuable daylight, we have to move."

Dogmeat was inclined to agree with the strange smelling old man.

When night had fallen, Elissa and the Wardens made camp not far from the road. They had a fire going and had their fill of travel rations and some of Alistair's cooking. As she ate, Elissa briefly wondered exactly what it was that she was eating. Was it some kind of soup? Alistair insisted that it was Highever stew, but this was no kind of Highever stew she had ever eaten, it was a greyish, browney colour, and to her it kind of looked like mud mixed in with vomit. But it was warm, and despite its unpalatable texture, it was actually quite edible. She had eaten her fill, and was fully ready to bed down with the rest of the Wardens while Duncan took watch, but she found that she could not sleep. It was funny, she had a full stomach, she was warm and comfortable in her loaned bedroll, and yet she was as awake as she had ever been. And so, Elissa decided to keep Duncan company, as he took watch. "You should be sleeping, girl," the old man admonished. "Sleep is valuable when you travel."

"Don't I know it," Elissa agreed. "But I can't sleep a wink, right now. Mind some company?"

Duncan smiled. "Of course not, please," he gestured to a spot on the ground, where Elissa had taken a seat. They sat in silence for some time, just staring out in the dark. "So tell me," Elissa said finally, breaking the silence. "What awaits you in the Korcari Wilds? There's no darkspawn there, only Chasind and overly large rats."

The old Warden chuckled. "Old treaties, if you're curious," he answered. "Our order once had a fortress within the wilds, but we had to abandon it when King Arland had banished our order from Ferelden." Elissa knew the history. Roughly two-hundred years ago, there was a power struggle between Arland, and some arlessa…Dryden, Elissa believed her name was. Arland had won, and Dryden had to join the Wardens or be killed. But Arlessa Dryden was still a strong and charismatic leader, and had many allies within the Bannorn. When Arland's reign started to become one of terror, he had gone to great lengths to silence his opponents, and had much of the nobility killed – some of which belonged to the Cousland family.

Some of the banns grew desperate, and had begged the then-Warden-Commander Dryden to intercede on their behalf, despite the fact that Wardens were meant to be politically neutral. Dryden agreed, and had used the Wardens to engage in rebellion against Arland, a rebellion which failed, and caused the Wardens to be banished, until King Maric had invited them back into the country centuries later. But if Duncan and the others were going to the wilds for papers… "Surely those treaties would have crumbled to dust by now."

Duncan nodded in agreement. "If they were ordinary papers, of course, but these treaties were written to compel others to aid our order in times of a blight. They were preserved by magic, until such a time comes when they would be necessary again."

"But there is no blight," Elissa pointed out. And indeed it was true. The last blight - the fourth one - had ended four-hundred years ago, at the battle of Ayesleigh, where the elven hero Garahel defeated and slain the archdemon in single combat, at the cost of his life. So many darkspawn were slain during that war that many believed that the Fourth Blight was the last one, and nobody would ever have to fear the blight ever again. Elissa thought that particular piece of history to be amusing. The greatest war of that age, and the Grey Wardens had made themselves obsolete! Elissa's reminiscing was cut short as Duncan replied to her comment. "_Yet_," he said with an air of ominousness. "The Grey Warden's must ever be watchful in the days between blights. 'In peace, vigilance. In war, victory. In death, sacrifice.'"

"Is that some kind of motto?" Elissa asked, to which Duncan nodded. "At any rate, retrieving the treaties is also a rite of passage for Daveth and Jory. They are to retrieve them with Alistair and be initiated into the order."

"Are they not?" Duncan shook his head. "They are Grey Wardens," he explained, "but they have not yet been initiated. But enough about us. Tell me, what sends you to South Reach?"

Elissa's brows knitted in confusion. Didn't she explain to him on the road? Well, a _false_ explanation, but an explanation nonetheless. "I told you," she answered, "I'm going home." Duncan chuckled; as if the reply which he was given might have been him asking what colour was the sky and getting 'green' as the answer. "You and I both know that Highever is in the wrong direction…Lady Cousland."

Elissa's eyes widened at the revelation. How did he know who she was? Did Loghain's men put him up to this? Instinctively she reached for her sword, ready to do battle with four highly trained Wardens if need be, only to realise that it laid beside her bedroll, some distance away from her. "Peace, girl," Duncan held up his hands. "I have no desire to harm you."

"How did you know?"

"I didn't," answered the old Warden simply. "But I know the difference between a South Reach accent and a Highever one, and a _highborn_ Highever accent, at that. Your reaction merely confirmed my suspicions. Not to mention that your face is drawn on wanted posters from here to Denerim. There is a rather healthy bounty for your head, you know. The woman charged with murder and treason, and hostage taking." Elissa looked down at the ground, looking both foolish and guilty at having to lie to this man who has shown nothing but kindness to her. Duncan placed a hand over her knee, and looked at her sternly. "Relax; it's not a very good likeness. It is likely no-one will even recognise you from them. All the same, I don't particularly enjoy playing the fool, but you can rest easy here. We Wardens have vowed never to interfere with local matters," he laughed suddenly. "We certainly learned our lesson here, once before!" Elissa couldn't help but join Duncan in his laughter. Suddenly, he grew more serious. "But since you are here, I am curious to hear your side of the story."

And so she told him. She began with Arl Howe's visit to her family's castle, when at night it was suddenly attacked by his soldiers. She told the Warden of Oriana and Oren, and their brutal ends, and those of Ser Gilmore, their servants and her parents. She told him of her vow of revenge, and her journey to Denerim, where it was revealed that Loghain was party to the plot, and had declared her a traitor in order to cover up his and Howe's crimes. When she was finished, Duncan had a thoughtful look on his face. He hadn't spoken for several minutes since she had finished telling him her tale, and she suddenly found that she wanted the Warden to say something, _anything_.

"I see," he said finally. "Well if it is worth anything to you, you have my sympathies. And, if it pleases you, I am perfectly willing to invite you into our order."

Elissa's eyebrows shot up at the offer. "Me?" she asked. "A Grey Warden?" She had to admit, in another time, Elissa might have been tempted to take Duncan up on his offer. But alas, she has her duty, as a Cousland, to ensure that justice was done for her family. "Thank you, Duncan," she said, astonished at the offer. "That is a generous offer, but…I swore to my father as he was dying, that justice be done. And I am a Cousland, and Couslands always do what must be done. I am on my way to Redcliffe, to seek the aid of Arl Eamon Guerrin."

"That is a fine attitude to life," Duncan replied admiringly. "And a reasonable course of action. But the offer still stands. Our order is small here in Ferelden, and we need as many good recruits as we could muster, but I have no desire of pressing the issue." Duncan noticed the young woman stifle a yawn, and could see that she was now ready to drop off at any moment. "Go and get some sleep now, girl. I can keep watch alone."

The morning came, and the Wardens were getting ready to break camp after a breakfast of more of Alistair's soupy not-Highever stew. Elissa laughed and joked as she had gotten to know her companions. Alistair was as he said he was the day before, a young lad from Redcliffe, who eventually went to the Chantry to study on being a Templar. It was a profession that Alistair didn't particularly enjoy, and he was saved from that life when a tourney was held in Duncan's honour, six months ago, and he was conscripted soon after. Daveth was a cutpurse from Denerim. Well, he grew up in an unmapped village close to the Korcari wilds, but he fled from there – and his father – and spent six years following a criminal career in the capital. Eventually, he was caught and was sentenced to hang, until he had the good fortune to pick the one pocket which would save him – Duncan's. Jory – or rather _Ser_ Jory – was a knight from Redcliffe, though he lived in Highever with his wife. He had participated in a tourney her father had held not long before the attack, and was recruited then and there. Strange that Elissa didn't remember neither he nor Duncan being there. But then again, she _was_ bedridden with sickness then, and could not participate, or even _watch_.

It did not seem that any of them aside from Duncan knew who she really was. To them, she was still 'Ellie from South Reach'. The wanted posters Duncan had mentioned must have been as crap as he had said, to which she was thankful. She was helping Alistair clean the small cooking pot when Dogmeat started growling. She wondered what was wrong when horsemen had approached them. "Good morning," the lead horsemen called to them. Elissa shrank almost visibly as she recognised them. Loghain's men. The leader continued. "We travel this road in search of a dangerous fugitive," he handed Duncan a piece of paper, which he had unfolded and read the contents. The old Warden handed the paper to Elissa, which she took and read. It was one of those wanted posters he had mentioned. Maker, but they _were _crap, and very unflattering. The picture's face was too round, and the hair was too short, and the nose, ugh…she looked like a pig in this picture, but she had to be impressed with the reward printed on the bottom. Ten thousand gold sovereigns. One could buy a bannorn with that kind of money, maybe even a small arling!

She handed the poster to Alistair, who whistled at the sight of the reward money, and commented on her likeness. "Maker, but that is one ugly woman!" he commented. "This Elissa Cousland must be guilty of beauty crimes or something, as well as murder and all that."

"Wait!" cried one of the horsemen, who pointed to Elissa. "That's her! That's Cousland!"

Alistair, Daveth, and Jory all turned their heads to look at 'Ellie from South Reach', who just groaned and palmed her face. "But she's not ugly!" Alistair exclaimed. The lead horseman scowled at the Wardens. "You are harbouring a fugitive!" he yelled, drawing his sword. The other horsemen did the same. "In the name of King Loghain, I command you to release that traitor into our custody, _immediately_!"

"_King_ Loghain?" inquired Duncan as Dogmeat continued growling. The hound's loyalty to his mistress was commendable, Duncan realised. Of course, he _is_ a Mabari. "Last I heard, Loghain was a teyrn, a teyrn-become-regent maybe, but still a teyrn."

"Nonetheless, that traitor comes with us!"

"Hold on!" said Ser Jory, trying to be the voice of reason, here. "Duncan, the Wardens are sworn not to interfere. If she is who they say she is then I say let them take her."

Oh, thanks a lot Jory… Elissa thought. It was nice to know who one's friends are. But she couldn't really object, he was right after all. She wouldn't be surprised if all of them agreed with Jory. "Piss on that!" spat Daveth, trying to be the one who wanted to do the right thing - which wasn't necessarily the _smart_ thing, here. "They'll hang her! Or worse. Prison and the gallows ain't no picnic for anyone, I can tell you that!"

"And besides," added Alistair, holding up the poster with the crappy face. "That's not the same face! Look! This is Ellie from South Reach. Elissa Cousland looks like a fat pig!"

Thanks, Alistair… Elissa thought sarcastically. But this had to end. These Wardens aren't involved; this was between her and Loghain's men. They should get as far away from her as humanly possible, get to the wilds as quickly as they can and forget that they had ever met her. "Enough!" she yelled, approaching the men who had come for her. "I am Elissa Cousland," she told them, and then looked toward Alistair, who looked guilty for unknowingly calling her a fat pig. "I'm the one you want. These Wardens have nothing to do with this. Let them go, and take me." She stretched out her arms. "I surrender."

"Wait!" yelled Alistair as he approached Duncan. "Duncan, you have to do something!"

"Do I?" inquired his mentor. "Jory is correct, we cannot interfere." Duncan saw the look in Alistair's eyes, that 'you kicked my puppy' look that children used to get what they want. Duncan knew what it was that his protégé was asking. But Elissa had already refused his offer of joining the Grey Wardens. They could not interfere, but… Duncan did like the girl. Unfortunately, he wouldn't be doing her any favours either by letting her go or making her join the order. But there was at least a chance that she would live longer through one choice. "Young man, may I have a moment?" he called to the leader. "I assume that you represent the law of Ferelden?"

"I do."

"Then under the law of Ferelden, I hereby invoke the Right of Conscription. I take Elissa Cousland as a Grey Warden."

The leader sneered at this new development. The regent would not like that. "My orders are to bring her in chains or in a box," he snarled. "In light of that, I do not recognise your 'right'. She comes with us, one way or another."

Duncan's face darkened, as did the rest of the Wardens. Who was he – who was _Loghain_ – to ignore their right to conscript any and all they please? It was written in the laws of all nations, since the order's founding. And this young snot dares piss on that? "Am I to understand that you choose not to uphold the law where Grey Warden matters are concerned?"

The leader sneered again. "I choose to uphold the law there_ traitors_ are concerned. King Loghain will not be denied! Not by you, not by the Empress of Orlais, not even the Maker Himself will deny him! If you do not give her to me, we shall take her by force! Men!" he called out to the rest of the horsemen. "Kill them all!"

What happened next was a flurry of action. Loghain's men and the Wardens readied their weapons and hacked at each other. Of course, it was a difficult thing for a man on foot to face a man on horseback. But they had fought nonetheless. Dogmeat used his strength to pull some of them down as Duncan plunged his blades into them. Daveth had the ease of it, as he picked off men with his bow and arrow. Jory and Alistair, instead of attacking the men, crippled the horses with their blades, causing the horsemen to fall, and meet with steel. Elissa leapt to her sword and shield and defended herself just in time as one man's mace threatened to cave her head in. Despite their difficulty, Elissa and the Wardens were in fact _winning_ this battle, until the leader of Loghain's men called "loose!" to nobody in particular, before Elissa severed the head from his body. Suddenly, a hail of arrows came out from nowhere. She did not understand. They were on clear ground; there was nowhere that archers could have hidden. Maybe they were following the horsemen on foot, and had arrived in time for that man to give the order to fire? All that really mattered was that there were_ arrows_ raining down on them!

Elissa saw Jory and Daveth fall to the arrows first. One of them had even plunged into Jory's eye that she could see. Daveth had become something of a pincushion, given the number of arrows which had pierced him. Alistair had taken a few in the chest, but it was enough to fell him. And Duncan…who had been so friendly to her. Who had known her secret, and had chosen not to divulge it to his fellow Wardens. Who tried to protect her with that archaic right he had mentioned. It was not arrows which had gotten him. He fell in battle earlier, with an axe in his back. "I'm so sorry," she whispered as she felt the arrows pierce her. She fell lifelessly, staring up at the sky, still alive, somehow. She gasped for breath as she heard Dogmeat still fighting off their attackers, until she heard a light yelp of pain from her faithful dog. No… she whimpered. Elissa watched two of the attackers inspect her, to see if she was still alive and expressing wonder that she survived. "Good!" she heard one say. "Bounty's bigger alive!" She blacked out as she heard their chuckles. A loud, bestial roar had woken her up. Was it Dogmeat? No, it can't be… He's dead. Elissa's eyes watched the men run in fear, looking up at the sky. She weakly followed their gaze, and cursed her eyes for playing tricks as she saw the large shadow in the sky. It looks just like a…dragon? She blacked out again, waking up just in time to see the old woman standing above her, inspecting her with wry amusement. "Well, well…" the old woman said, "what have we here?"

**End Chapter Five.**

_Author's Note: Well, well…what have we here? Why, it's a new chapter complete! And it's a beast too, done in record time! (at least for me ^_^) I loved writing this one; it's probably my favourite so far. It's got fighting, the Wardens…__**FLEMETH SAVING ELISSA'S ARSE!**__ Anyway, introduction to Alistair! Yay! I hope that I did him justice with his little quips, if not then…I'll do better, promise. But Alistair! And Flemeth! And Dogmeat! (alright, getting carried away there) Another cliffhanger ending! Seriously, you must be getting sick of those by now :P. Must be my way of unintentionally trolling you all, or something..._

_I would like to thank dustywalker for choosing to follow this story, thanks much! ^_^_

_See you next chapter. What's going to happen next? Tell me! __**TELL ME!**__ Oh…right, I'm the author…um…we'll bang, okay?_


	6. Witches of the Wilds

**The Wreath of Highever.**

**Chapter Six: Witches of the Wilds.**

_Elissa dreamt of dead trees. Decayed leaves were falling around her from gnarled branches, and onto the blackened ground. She looked around her as the cold, stale breeze blew through the branches. This entire forest was dead. Elissa turned her head sharply toward something she had heard behind her. What was that? Taking a deep breath, Elissa decided to follow the sound, fully aware that whatever it was, it might just be something which could harm her. But she was too curious. What was it?_

_As she approached the sound, it became much clearer to her when she heard it again. It was laughter. "Oren?" she said to herself, her pace picking up speed as she continued to follow the sound. _

_Elissa stopped dead as she took in the sight before her in this dead forest. Her family. A tear fell from her eye as she watched little Oren giggle wildly as Fergus tossed him high in the air. Oriana watched the two of them with love in her eyes as she sat on the ground beside her mother and father. Bryce drank from a goblet as he cuddled his smiling wife closer to him with one arm. Dogmeat barked happily as he jumped and danced around her brother and nephew. _

_They looked so happy._

_Elissa breathed in sharply, pressing a hand firmly against her mouth in both grief and happiness. My family! _

_Fergus let his son back down on the ground as he dropped to his knees and gave Oriana a deep kiss. Little Oren, once firmly back on the ground, decided that his parent's display was gross, and then played with Dogmeat. Elissa started to go to them, to join in their joy, when a familiar voice had stopped her._

"_You killed them." It was Arl Rendon Howe's voice, as oily and serpentine as she remembered it._

_Elissa turned sharply toward his voice, but he could not be seen. Where was he? "Howe?!" she called out, her arm dropping instinctively to where her sword would have been, if it actually there. She grunted at her sword's absence. That was alright, she'll kill him with bare hands if need be. Even if this _was_ a dream._

_She turned her attention back to her family, who mere moments ago were laughing and playing and was so joyous, now lay on the ground as bloody corpses. "No!" she cried as her feet darted her towards the fallen bodies. She fell to her knees and cradled her mother's body. The tears flowed from her as she hugged Eleanor tightly to her._

"_You could have saved them, my dear."_

_Her eyes darted around the forest, determined that she locate Howe and end him. She didn't care how she did it, but she will kill him, slow and painful! Finally, she had seen him walk towards her; the satisfaction written on his face was too much for her to see. "Howe!" she yelled, forcing herself to charge this murdering bastard and wrest the heart from his foul chest. But something stopped her, she felt hands restrain her. Her eyes widened in horror as the corpses of her family had become reanimated and wrap their arms around her, encasing her in dead flesh. Elissa struggled, wanting desperately to break free and kill Howe._

_She heard their voices in her ear. "You could have saved us!" said Fergus. "Betrayer! We're dead because you ran!" hissed her father. "You were our daughter!" cried Eleanor. "We trusted you to fight for us!" Even Dogmeat growled accusingly at her. No… Tears fell as she heard these words. I had to go! she thought. You sent me away! "You are a murderer," she heard Howe's voice above her. Rage burned inside her as that smug face entered her vision. "Howe!" she growled, the anger she felt toward him was an inferno just waiting to burst. _He_ was the murderer! _He_ was the betrayer! He is a dead man! _

"_I'm going to kill you," she vowed._

_Howe grinned evilly as he produced a dagger, enjoying every moment of this as he pressed the blade, ever so gently – like a lover's caress – against the Lady Cousland's exposed throat._

"_HOWE!_" Elissa awoke violently, surging from the cot where she slept and fully ready to kill someone right now. She breathed in heavy gulps of air as she tried to control her fury, and took in her surroundings. She was in some kind of shack or hut, sparsely decorated, but for the shelves of books and animal furs nailed to the walls. A small cooking pot hung over a fireplace, and she could smell herbs and…some kind of meat in the air. How did she even get here? The last thing Elissa could remember was…being on the road. She encountered some men, Grey Wardens, and had shared the road with them, at least until she reached South Reach, where their paths would have split. She remembered breaking camp with them, until some men on horseback tried to arrest her. They had fought, and then…arrows came down upon them, killed the Wardens, and had almost killed her, it seems. And then…

And then there was the old woman who was simply…there…when she opened her eyes. 'Well, well…what have we here?' she said, before she blacked out. It was what she said, and the way she had said it though. They were not words of concern, but rather out of curiosity, as if in Elissa, the old woman had found something of a queer interest to her. But was so interesting about a dying woman with arrows in her chest?

"Ah! Your eyes finally open," Elissa turned sharply toward the source of the voice which had spoken. It was a young woman – roughly her age, perhaps a little older – who had entered this hut, a roll of bandages in her hands. She was black-haired and golden eyed, with a thin yet gorgeous body which, were Elissa a man, she would certainly feel the stirring of loins at the sight of her. The woman was dressed in leathers, adorned with feathers and what looked like…animal totems.

Was this woman an Avvar? No, she couldn't possibly… It was impossible! The Avvars lived in the Frostback Mountains, maybe a month west of Denerim, where they border Orlais. She is a Chasind, maybe? That was just as impossible; she and the Wardens were only a day or two out of Denerim. The closest thing to them would have been the Bannorn and the Brecilian Forest; they were too far north to be _anywhere_ close to the Korcari wilds, which was a _week_ away on horseback. At least! Unless…maybe this woman was an outcast from one of the Chasind tribes? Or maybe she was just a little…touched, and likes dressing up like a barbarian?

At any rate, the woman continued speaking. "Mother shall be pleased."

Okay? Who was this woman? Who was her mother, and why would she pleased that she was awake? "Err…yes," Elissa said, her confusion was obvious to the woman, who just smirked at her. "Where am I?"

"In my mother's hut," answered the woman, as if that was the only answer which mattered. She sighed when she saw that she would need to elaborate further. "You are in my mother's hut," she repeated, not quite impatiently, but Elissa could detect the hint of it in her voice, "in the Korcari Wilds, where I am bandaging your wounds." Elissa looked down at her bare body, bare of course, but for her breeches. Her fingers caressed the angry red lines where the arrows had pierced her. She was no healer, but Elissa was sure that – judging from the positions of the wounds on her chest, some close to her heart – she should be dead. Thank the Maker for small miracles, eh? she thought.

And barbarian healers, apparently.

"You are welcome, by the way," quipped the woman. "Now then, seeing as you are awake. Tell me your name, and I shall tell you mine. Let us be civilised."

"My name is Elissa," she answered, "pleased to meet you." The woman smirked again, as if that somehow amused her. "Well now, that is a proper civil greeting, even here in the wilds. You may call me Morrigan."

"Greetings, Morrigan," replied Elissa politely. "How did I get here?"

"My mother got bored, and then turned into a dragon," Morrigan answered, quite seriously. "She came upon you and your companions and picked you up in her talons. She brought you here – in the wilds – where her magic has plucked you from death's door. You have been our guest for some time, now."

Was she joking with her? Elissa scowled, starting to get annoyed; Morrigan and her mother might have saved her life – and with _magic_, no less, which opened a can of worms in itself – but that gave her no real reason to make light of how she got here. It was a valid question, considering that she had almost been _killed_. Morrigan looked at the expression her guest wore, and gave no indication that she gave a damn. "If you do not believe me," she said, "then 'tis no fault of mine. You could ask my mother, for all I care." Morrigan walked over to Elissa, knelt down beside her, and then proceeded to wrap Elissa's wounds with the bandages, uncaring of Elissa's personal space; she was covering up her wounds, after all. "How does your memory fare?" she asked, changing the subject. "Do you remember your attackers? And who was this 'Howe' you were screaming at in your dreams?"

"A dead man," Elissa answered simply. Morrigan ceased her ministrations, crossed her arms and leaned her head back, peering curiously at her guest, and then regarded her as though she were carefully weighing her options. Elissa had no idea why, though – if Morrigan and her mother knew of it, of course – if she were interested in the bounty on her head, Elissa was fairly certain that – magic or no – as weak as she was, she could take on a skinny little thing like her and an old woman, even if they _had_ restored her to good health.

"An interesting answer," Morrigan said finally. "You certainly do seem to be an interesting woman. Which, perhaps, is why she has rescued you and your friend? Certainly, 'twould not be out of the kindness of her heart."

Her friend? Did Dogmeat survive, or did she mean one of the Wardens? "My friend?" she inquired, curious to whom this woman was speaking of.

"Yes," answered Morrigan, "the suspicious, dim-witted one outside, speaking with Mother. Alistair, I believe his name is." Alistair was alive? But she saw him fall, how could… Elissa gave a short laugh, remembering just how she came to be here. If she could survive, then it would obviously stand to reason that someone else would too. She thought of the other Wardens, Daveth, Jory and Duncan. Did they not survive? Elissa supposed not, otherwise Morrigan would have mentioned them also. Alistair must be beside himself, they were his friends, and they died because of her.

But _did _they? Elissa remembered what Alistair convinced Duncan to do. The so-called 'Right of Conscription,' which was written in the laws of every nation on Thedas, barring of course the Qunari lands in the far north. She remembered the night with Duncan, and his offer of joining his order. Elissa had refused right then and there, citing her…personal matter as reason. And then Loghain's men showed up the morning after, making demands, and he tried to conscript her! She should be angry about that, but…Duncan and Alistair – misguided they may have been – both tried to protect her. Although she did have the feeling that their protection wouldn't have been the favour it seemed to be. And then they killed the Wardens, ignoring what was to be their Maker-given right throughout most of the land. Yes, they died because of her, from a certain point of view, and so she owns what happened, at least in part. But on the other hand, the Warden's should not have interfered. They should have let her go.

Why does this make her feel so…_guilty_?

Morrigan was finished with Elissa's bandages, and then continued speaking as she stood up and walked over to the small cooking pot over the fire, "If you are up to it, Mother would like to speak with you."

Elissa nodded toward her benefactor. "Thank you, Morrigan," she said, which Morrigan did not expect, judging from the look on her face. Elissa took it that this young woman did not hear much of 'please' and 'thank you' in her life. But she does appear to be a Chasind, maybe which was why. Many Fereldans certainly did not expect politeness from barbarians, even when among their own kind, though Elissa must admit that all that she knows from Chasinds and Avvars and such came solely from books, and so she did not have any true experience with them. Who knows what they were really like? But the gratitude from her certainly did throw Morrigan off.

"I…you are welcome. Though Mother did most of the work. I am no healer. At any rate, go and see my mother. I shall stay, and make something to eat."

Elissa dressed before exiting the hut, it probably would not do any good to walk out into the wilds half undressed. When she exited the hut, her eyes had widened in shock as she was greeted by the sight of swampland and freezing cold air. She was in the Korcari Wilds, alright. She looked around and saw Alistair by a pond, just as bandaged as she, and conversing with a small old woman dressed in rags stitched together to form a crude dress. This was the very same old woman who had rescued them. Morrigan's mother. Two pairs of eyes turned to see her. "See?" the old woman asked the young Warden. "Here is your friend, now. You worry too much, young man."

"You…you're alive!" Alistair approached and gave her a big hug, clearly unmindful of either of their wounds. Elissa grunted in discomfort as she returned the hug. "Ellie… or Elissa…whoever you are. I thought you were dead for sure!"

"I'm alright, Alistair," she disengaged from the Grey Warden. "Thanks to Morrigan's mother."

Alistair breathed a heavy sigh. "This doesn't seem real," he said, still not quite believing that either of them was alive. "If it weren't for Morrigan's mother, we'd be dead on the road, right now."

"Do not talk about me as if I am not present, boy," warned the old woman, crossing her arms.

"I-I didn't mean…" Alistair blushed in embarrassment. "But what do we call you? You never told me your name."

The old woman smirked at the Warden. "Names are pretty," she commented, "but useless. The Chasind folk call me Flemeth. To the Dalish, I am Asha'bellanar – the 'woman of many years'. To a great many others, I am the Witch of the Wilds…or an 'old hag who talks too much!'" she chuckled, "I have many names, children, call me what you please."

Alistair's brows curled up in confusion, as did Elissa's. Flemeth? Asha'bellanar? The Witch of the Wilds. Elissa had to call bullshit on that one. The Witch of the Wilds just a story cooked up by mothers and nannies wanting to frighten their children into good behaviour. 'Be good, or the Witch of the Wilds will get you!' they would warn. Nan tried that with Elissa once, when she was maybe four or five. She remembered being told about Flemeth and then stomping her foot on the floor, declaring: "I'm not scared of stories!" And then Nan tried a different sort of punishment. A smacked arse worked better at keeping her in line than scary tales anyway.

"_The_ Flemeth?" said Alistair, his voice laced with scepticism. "Right, the 'Witch of the Wilds! And I'm the king of Ferelden.'

"And what does that mean, 'your majesty'?" asked Flemeth. "I know a bit of magic, and it has served you well, has it not? I have snatched you both up from the brink of death." The witch smirked at both of them. "And I shall send you both back out into the world, safe and sound as children."

"Right," continued Alistair's scepticism. "But do you really think that we believe you're _the_ Flemeth?"

"You are required to do nothing – least of all believe," answered Flemeth. "Shut one's eyes tight or open one's arms wide, either way, one's a fool." The witch turned her attention toward the former Lady Cousland. "And what about you, girl? Do you believe or disbelieve as he does?"

"I'm…not really sure what to believe," answered Elissa. She certainly didn't believe that she was here, in the Korcari Wilds, and yet here she was. Freezing her arse off in a swamp. Her answer seemed to have amused the old witch, as Flemeth suddenly started laughing.

"A statement that holds more wisdom than you think!"

"Wait! I don't understand," Alistair scowled as he turned his attention toward Elissa, suddenly feeling very angry at her now. "Who _are_ you, anyway? And what did you do that Loghain's men would kill _Grey Wardens_, just to have you in chains?"

"I…" Elissa began, unsure of where to begin. She might as well start with the truth. "My name…_is_ Elissa Cousland," she answered. "I don't come from South Reach. I come from Highever, my family ruled the teyrnir. I… I was travelling to Redcliffe, to seek aid from Arl Eamon. I needed his help in…a personal matter." Elissa did not want the young Warden to become any more involved than he was now. He had seen the poster of her, the one listing her supposed crimes, but how much does he know about what happened in Highever and Denerim? Does he know nothing or worse yet does he know of the lies being fed the Fereldan people by Loghain and Howe, and perhaps even believe them? She has been labelled a murderer and a traitor, after all. Most people would not really look past that particular fact, true or not.

"Huh," said Alistair, still scowling. It looked to Elissa like he wanted to vent some anger at her. That was fair; his friends had died because she was there. Let him rant, she could take it, no matter how much it hurt. "Well, I don't really care about your 'personal matters', Ellie – _Elissa_." The Warden took a step toward her as he spoke. "All that matters to me is that my fellow Grey Wardens are dead! All because of you!"

"I know," Elissa bit her lip and felt the guilt flow through her. "Alistair, I-"

She was stopped when Alistair raised a hand, signalling her to stop speaking. He wasn't done yet, not by a long shot. "I know, 'you're sorry'. Well, 'sorry' isn't going to cut it for me! Those were good men who died out there! Jory, Daveth…" And Duncan. His voice broke when he thought about Duncan. The old Warden had saved him from a life he did not want. Alistair had been a Grey Warden for six months now, but before that, he was studying to join the Templar Order. He was miserable then, he had not yet taken his vows, and yet he was desperately unhappy. And then comes Duncan. A tournament was held in the Grey Wardens honour, where many of the order's finest participated, and Alistair. He did poorly, of course, but Duncan found him of infinitely greater character than the others. He wasn't the greatest of swordsmen, nor was he the strongest of warriors, nor the smartest. But despite that, Duncan sensed that he had a good heart, and had invoked the Right of Conscription right then and there.

The Grand Cleric was not pleased, of course.

In the six months since Alistair had been taken under the old Warden's wing, he had felt that Duncan had become something of a father figure to him. He was the man who, in the entirety of Alistair's life, let him be who he wanted to be. And he wanted to be a Grey Warden.

And now…Duncan is dead. Butchered because of this girl those men were chasing. Sweet Andraste, it was all her fault!

"Duncan, he…" he swallowed, his heart heavy with equal parts sadness and rage. "Duncan was like a _father_ to me, Elissa! And he's dead! They're all dead! And do you even care?! You know, I bet you haven't lost _anyone_ like-!"

The next thing Alistair knew was that he was laid flat on the swampy earth. The side of his face ached, and he thinks that a tooth had loosened. He looked up in astonishment at the girl who knocked him flat on his arse, fist clenched and tears held back by barely contained rage.

"How dare you," she whispered harshly. "'I haven't lost anyone?' Well, let me tell you something. Several days ago, my father – my _actual_ father – was betrayed and murdered by a man he considered a friend!" She kicked him in the ribs hard, causing him to curl up in pain. Was it something he said? "That same man also took my mother, and my nephew – a little boy! My sister-in-law was _raped _before she died! I don't know if my brother is alive or dead! I am on the run, having been accused of crimes I have not even committed, and my bloody _dog_ has been killed, too!" She kicked him again before bending down and unleashing the fury in her eyes with a fiery glare. "So _bugger_ your ranting! I'm not having it, _any_ of it!" she finished, pointing an enraged finger toward the prone man who was listening to every word she was saying. Elissa turned her back on him and Flemeth, breathing heavy intakes of air, trying to calm down. She ran a hand through her hair and closed her eyes. Though still angry with the young man, Elissa turned back towards him and offered him her hand. "Come on," she said, flexing her fingers.

When Alistair listened to the words spoken by this grief-stricken young woman, he felt a great shame be shrouded over him, a shame which had overridden the dull pain radiating from his ribs and face. This was a woman who had lost much more than he had. He had only known Duncan for _six months_! And he knew the Daveth and Jory for not even that long. Elissa had lost her entire family…and he had just managed to piss her off. Alistair supposed that he should be on his knees, begging for forgiveness…and praising the Maker for having the wisdom of not allowing any sharp objects be placed anywhere near her. Elissa looked as if she wanted to stab him. He looked dumbly at the outstretched hand, and then noted the look in her eye. Yep, she still wants to stab me! Alistair thought. But at least she was offering to help him up. So that she can stab me, his thoughts added.

The old witch was laughing at the sight before her. A grown man – a Grey Warden – punched out by a _girl_! Elissa glared at the witch, none too pleased that this hag thought that all of this was funny. "Good!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands, as if she were treated to some theatre play. "I _knew_ that you were an interesting girl!"

"What in damnation are you talking about?" Elissa growled as she pulled Alistair from the muddy ground.

"You were of interest to me, child. I was merely curious of you, and it was by my curiosity that I had rescued you in the first place," she explained, glancing at Alistair. "As well as…other reasons, which I shall choose not to divulge. But you, my dear girl, I can see the rage inside you; it is an inferno, furious enough that all men should fear your wrath lest they feel its burn. Who shall feel its full fury first, I wonder?"

"Well that's easy," answered Elissa. "Two men, for certain: Rendon Howe and Loghain Mac Tir. And anyone else who gets in my way will get 'burned,' also."

"Ah, the fires of vengeance!" laughed the witch. "Even better!"

"You said Loghain?" piped in Alistair, both curious and determined. Elissa nodded. "Then take me with you," he said. It was not a request.

"I can't involve you any more than you are already, Alistair," Elissa shook her head. "I'm sorry, but I won't do it."

Alistair became more determined. "His men were after you, and when they caught you, they killed my friends to get to you," his jaw tightened as she said the words. "I owe Loghain that, and so do you."

"If you had just let me go, they wouldn't have killed them," Elissa pointed out. "I'm sorry about Duncan and the others, I truly am. I had a part to play in their deaths, I admit, but you should have left well alone."

Shame shrouded the young Warden's face as Elissa had pointed that out. Maybe she was right, maybe they should have left well alone. But Duncan invoked the Right of Conscription, by law those men should have let her come with them! Interference or no on their part, the regent of Ferelden chose to ignore laws sacred to the Grey Wardens in order to persecute an innocent woman. Loghain had to be accounted for! And who better to account for him than the two he had wronged.

"I'm still going with you," said Alistair. "Look, the way I see it, you need all the help you can get. Against Howe and Loghain, right?" Elissa nodded. "Well, in a way, Loghain has wronged me too, and _I_ need all the help_ I _can get so_ I_ can bring him to justice. So _I'm_ going to go to Redcliffe and ask Arl Eamon for help with _my _personal matters, too."

"Now you're being childish. Besides, Grey Wardens are forbidden to interfere with local matters, aren't they?" asked Elissa. "Surely what you're proposing counts as interference in your fellows eyes."

"The Warden-Commander of Ferelden was killed by the regent's men, so I think they would understand. Look, I need to do _something_!" the Warden threw his hands up. "And I don't think putting on a dress and dancing the Remigold will do much to help. _Please_, Elissa, I need to do this."

Well, as amusing as watching a grown man in a dress and dancing the Remigold would be, Alistair had a point. Elissa did need all the help she could get, and if he were going to Redcliffe like he claims… She might as well; it would mean somebody watching her back if any more of Loghain's men came looking for her again. Alistair's eyes brightened as she nodded the affirmative.

"So you are set then?" asked Flemeth. "Ready to bring down men who would be kings?"

"As ready as we'll ever be," answered Elissa, bowing politely before the witch. "Thank you for helping us."

Flemeth laughed at Elissa's thanks, as if she didn't see much of 'please' and 'thank you', either. "Such manners! Always in the last place you look…like stockings! Now…before you go, there is one more thing I can offer you."

They were greeted by footsteps coming from Morrigan as she approached Elissa and Alistair from behind. All eyes were turned to her as she spoke. "The stew is bubbling, Mother dear," Morrigan informed her mother, glancing at their guests. "Shall we have two guests for the eve or none?"

Flemeth smiled at her daughter, though Elissa could see that it was not really one of motherly love for her daughter. More like…she didn't know…but it unnerved her.

"These young ones will be leaving shortly, girl," the witch informed her daughter. "And you shall be joining them."

"Such a shame… _What?!_"

**End Chapter Six.**

_Author's Note: And Chapter Six is done! Sorry it took so long, I was tweaking this chapter like a motherfucker so that it didn't read too much like a filler chapter. Don't really know if I succeeded, but I'm satisfied with the end result anyway. And the Alistair/Elissa confrontation! Alistair disapproves: -10, and Elissa disapproves: -10000 +arsekicking! Certainly not the best way to start a friendship, is it? But don't worry, I'm sure that it'll grow into the bromance that we all know and love. I'm sure all the Alimancers (does that even describe Alistair romancers? Talimancer…Alimancer…why not?) out there either hate me now for punching out 'Alibear', or are on their knees wishing that Elissa would romance Alistair instead of Leliana in future chapters. So in respects to both of those things, I shall say this: __**TOUGH!**_ ಠ_**_**_ಠ

_So yeah, I really enjoyed writing that confrontation, and I really liked the dream sequence at the beginning, too, and yes, the background for said dream (dead forest) was based off the ME3 dream sequences, so…shout out? :P _

_Hopefully I did both Flemeth and Morrigan justice in regards to their personalities. I've been watching a lot of videos on Youtube in regards to those two as research in order to give them the right tone (and in doing so, I've rekindled my love – professionally speaking – for both Claudia Black and Kate Mulgrew, who are both fantastic actresses), but like all things I write, whether I did is ultimately up to all of you. Personally, I think I did a better job on Morrigan than I did Flemeth, but then again, Morrigan _is _going to be in this a helluva lot longer than her mother, so I guess that would make sense..._

_Anyway, I would like to thank AnimeFanReader01 and dmc2067 for choosing to follow this story. Thanks a lot you guys, I really appreciate it! ^_^_


	7. She Dreams of Dogs

**The Wreath of Highever.**

**Chapter Seven: She Dreams of Dogs.**

_Today was a lovely day. Leliana sang to herself as she danced and wandered aimlessly across the hills beyond the village. She sang of Alindra, and her soldier. She sang of the fair maiden who was wanted by all, but did not choose any, for she did not love them. Until, one day, she was singing in her father's castle, and was noticed by a lowly young soldier. The soldier was entranced by Alindra's song, and when their eyes had met, it was love at first sight. Alindra had chosen the one who she wanted to be with for all time – a fact which had angered her father once she had told him – but it was not meant to be. Alindra was a noble lady – a daughter of lords and kings – and her love was nothing more than a common soldier who was not even a knight. To her father, this commoner was unworthy of his daughter's hand. _

_And so her father had Alindra imprisoned in his castle, while he had her love sent to die in some war against his enemies. He had succeeded, and Alindra wept for her beloved soldier, and pleaded with whoever was listening to deliver her from this cruel world. Her pleas were heard by the very gods themselves. They had lifted her from this dark place which had taken her beloved, and raised her up in the sky as a star. _

_They had raised Alindra's love to the stars, though sadly, they were separated by the night sky. It was said that in time, Alindra would be reunited with her soldier, at long last, and would be together until the end of time._

_It was one of her favourite songs; one of lost love, and of promise and hope. Leliana had often wondered if such a love could exist. Had it ever existed?_

_She had though it did…once._

_But Leliana's singing was cut short by the sound of barking. She turned behind her, taking in the sight of two dogs frolicking in the grass. One dog was a Mabari bitch, powerful, noble, intelligent, and brave. The other was a lowly mongrel, one which looked a little sickly. But despite that, she thought the little mongrel rather cute, a sweet looking hound, and just a little fuzzy. She giggled to herself as she saw what the two frolicking hounds were wearing atop their heads: the Mabari, a laurel wreath, and the mutt, looking rather kingly with his golden crown._

_Leliana laughed at the dogs. The king of the hounds, and his loyal Mabari!_

_That would make a good story._

_The dogs stopped playing and stared out at the sky, growling viciously, as if they had come across an enemy._

_She looked at the sky, and saw what they were growling at. A dragon swooped down before them, atop its back rode a bear, which was a strange sight in itself. The Mabari growled even louder at the bear, rather than the dragon, snapping her jaws and baring her teeth, ready to tear the flesh from the bear's throat. This noble hound was snarling at this bear, as if it had killed her pack or something. But the bear seemed unimpressed with the Mabari's display. In fact, the bear seemed a little…smug…Leliana thought would be the best word to describe it, and had stood up on its hind legs and roared its challenge to the Mabari, a challenge which this brave Mabari was willing to accept, as she charged toward the bear._

_The dragon was eyeing the mongrel circling it, as if considering it for a snack. The mutt barked as the dragon snapped its jaws at him, threatening to cook this brave little dog alive with its fire breath. But the little sickly mutt stood his ground, as brave as his Mabari companion. The dragon breathed fire, but the mutt was not harmed, but instead lunged at the giant monster, ready to bite a chunk out of this scaly beast's snout, even if it was just a small chunk._

_As Leliana watched these brave hounds do battle, she felt a presence behind her. What could it be? Could it be a giant spider, perhaps? Or maybe even a bereskarn from the stories of darkspawn raids on the surface? When seeing two dogs fighting a bear and a dragon, Leliana supposed that anything was possible._

_Curious, she turned to take in the sight of the beautiful young woman, clad in armour, and wearing a serious expression on her face._

And that was when she woke up.

Leliana opened her eyes groggily as she taken in the sun's rays radiating through the tiny window of the dormitory she shares with about a half-dozen other lay sisters. She smiled sleepily, and greeted the morning, as she had ever since she came to the Chantry. "Good morning," she greeted with a sleepy smile as she rubbed the tiredness from her eyes.

And so begins another day in Lothering.

The day was like any other here in this tiny village in Ferelden. Quiet, unassuming, uneventful. Just the way she liked it. There was a time in her life where she would think this life to be completely and utterly _boring_! But that was a long time ago. She was older now, wiser…someone from her past made sure of that.

She was thirty years old, though looking at her; one would think she was a maiden of no more than twenty. She had short, auburn hair, ragged and messy, the odd lock of hair covering her bright blue eyes which had seen much, and a lone braid hanging from the left side of her innocent-looking face. One villager – a pervy old man – had once described her as a 'girl next door' to his friends when she overheard their conversation in the Dane's Refuge tavern. Nothing needed to be said when she caught him sneaking an eyeful as she bathed.

Leliana sang as she worked the chantry's small garden with her fellow lay sisters, kneeling in the dirt, digging tool in hand getting at the potatoes they had been growing. This would be a part of their supper, once they were free of the dirt. They ate simply, here in the chantry: biscuits and bread, and lightly cooked potatoes and other vegetables. There were times when Leliana was sick of eating the same things – over and over again – would give anything just to feel the taste of something sweet and shamelessly unhealthy on her tongue: a piece of cake, a sweetroll…Maker's breath, even a simple _cookie _would be enough for her!

But even so – lack of sweets aside – this quiet life of prayer, hard work and solitude was something which had brought the Orlesian woman some much needed peace.

When the day had become evening, Leliana was surprised that the fruits – or rather vegetables – of her labours had gone to good use, as the brothers responsible for feeding all within the chantry had provided them with golden chips and fish fried in batter. It had made a welcome change from the usual bread and biscuits.

They were meant to eat in silence and contemplation of the Maker's wondrous works while a brother was meant to sing the Chant of Light. Although today, the revered mother had requested from the Orlesian a story to go with their meal. In between each bite of her meal, Leliana regaled the brothers and sisters with a tale of a highwayman, and the tavern girl who loved him. All listened intently to her voice as they ate, some even forgot their meals entirely as they listened to the story. Eventually, supper was over, and so came the evening prayers before going to bed, preparing for another day in Lothering.

_She dreamt of dogs, again. This time, Leliana was walking along a beach. She hadn't done that in years; Lothering was as inland as a village could get, far away from any coast. She missed the beach, the sound of the sea, the scent of the salt air, the laughter of children as they built their sand castles. When she was younger, she cared not one bit for these things, but she did enjoy the coast when she could. Leliana remembered one task she performed for her mistress, where she seduced a noblewoman who was one of her mistress' enemies, and was to gather information which would ruin this woman's family name. She was eventually invited to the noble's summer home: a beach manor by the Waking Sea. What followed was three days of sex and unadulterated hedonism, as befits her countrymen – or women, in this case. It was a good mission, though looking back; she did regret the consequences of her success: the ruin of an entire family and the subsequent suicide of the woman she was with – not that it mattered to her then, all that mattered was pleasing her beloved mistress._

_The things she did for love._

_But now she was on a beach again, flanked by the two dogs from before. The noble Mabari and the sickly – yet cute – little mongrel, still adorned with their headwear. The Mabari stared at her intently, as if she was hers, now and forever. The little mutt was yapping away, playfully, trying to draw her attention to him. She did not even know who these dogs even were, or who they even _belonged _to, but…she had grown to care for these dogs a great deal, as is they were hers._

_Both dogs stopped dead in their tracks, which caused Leliana to stop in hers. They were growling at the sky again, like they did the last time when they fought the angry dragon and that smug-looking bear._

_Two creatures of which stood before them, challenging them once more._

_Both dogs barked before charging at them for a second bout. Leliana wished she had a bow, a knife…a rock, _something_! She had to do something to help these brave hounds, to protect them from danger._

_Instead, she threw caution to the wind and decided to face these creatures with her bare hands, for lack of a weapon. She must protect those dogs. She _will _protect those dogs. With her life if she had to._

_Her feet froze in the sand, unable to move them as her eyes widened at the sight of the charging dogs changing form. The mongrel, with its little golden crown, had become a man. He was tall, blonde, and rather cute…if a little fuzzy. Clad in armour and sword in hand, he swung and thrust at the dragon, fighting it with all his might like the Nevarran dragonslayers of old._

_The Mabari, bold and noble and crowned with the laurel wreath, had changed into a young woman. The same woman she had seen before, during the first battle against the dragon and the bear. She was perhaps as tall as she was, certainly younger, perhaps by roughly ten years if Leliana had to guess, and she was beautiful. She was also clad in armour and wielding a sword, as the mutt-become-man had. The woman thrust and slashed at the bear with all the rage of a dwarven berserker. The bear simply roared in challenge, as if _daring_ her to kill it._

_As the pair did battle with the bear and the dragon, the young woman had suddenly stopped fighting, and had instead turned her head to stare at the Orlesian._

And that was when she woke up.

"When Alindra told her father of the one she had chosen, he was furious, for Alindra was high-born, but her love nothing more than a common soldier."

Leliana sat outside the chantry, telling stories to the village's children, as well as the older ones who occasionally stop by to listen. Older ones such as young Bethany Hawke, a pleasant young woman of eighteen. She often comes to look after the children when her lack of chores at home permits it. Leliana enjoys Bethany's visits; she was one who truly appreciates a good tale, unlike her elder sister and twin brother. Those two were always getting into some kind of trouble – especially the sister. Not that she doesn't enjoy a little troublemaking, every now and then; it reminded her of the better times before she came to the Chantry. Leliana remembered one particular prank she intended for one of her fellow lay sisters who had been rather bitchy to her, instead of her intended victim, Leliana had instead earned the ire of a soldier – a big strong specimen of a woman with fiery hair, who was travelling with her Templar husband. Didn't quite go to plan, but it was still rather funny.

Anyway.

"To keep them apart," she continued for her attentive audience, "he had imprisoned Alindra in the highest tower in his castle, and sent her soldier to the wars. Alas, not a month had passed before news of the soldier's death reached Alindra. Alone in her tower, Alindra wept for her love, and beseeched the gods to deliver her from this cruel world."

"Oh no…" was what the young Hawke had said, which was followed by wails of despair from some of the younger girls of her audience. The boys present just rolled their eyes. They know nothing of romance.

Leliana just smiled. "But take heart! So earnest was her plea that the gods themselves were moved. They gathered Alindra into their arms and lifted her high into the heavens, where she became a star! The gods also raised up the soul of Alindra's soldier love, and there they dwell, across the horizon from one another. Between them lie a band of stars, a river of Alindra's tears cried for her lost love. It has been said that when Alindra has cried enough, she would be able to cross the river of tears and be reunited with her soldier."

"Why do all the stories like that always end badly?" asked Bethany.

"It doesn't end badly," Leliana shook her head, "it ends with _hope_. Hope that, one day, Alindra and her love will be reunited. The tale of Alindra and her soldier is one of my favourites: a tale of love so great and enduring that it defies death, and even moves the gods to action."

"It's a lovely story," said Bethany, wiping away an errant tear. She always was a little emotional, unlike her brother pretending – and failing – to be the big man, and her sister whom to her everything was a joke. Even her father – Maker rest his soul – had that kind of humorous light in his heart, much like his eldest daughter.

"Yes," Leliana agreed, smiling at the younger Hawke. "Yes, it is."

_Leliana grunted as she pulled the dagger from the enemy's throat. His body dropped lifelessly as she thrown her free weapon at the next assailant coming towards her, planting itself deep into his chest. Leliana had been chased through the streets of this city for what seemed like hours. She vaguely remembered these streets. Denerim, the capital city of Ferelden and the former seat of its late king: Cailan, she believed his name was. The men chasing her were soldiers, as she could tell from experience. Their armour bore the emblems of a bear and a dragon. A bear and a dragon? She remembered seeing those before. _

_But from where? She asked herself. What possible relevance did a bear and a dragon have for her?_

_Leliana quickly moved her head to one side as an arrow came directly for her, fired by one of the bear-soldiers. She didn't want to lose her other dagger, having foolishly thrown the other, and so she ran. Taking advantage of her natural speed and agility, Leliana sprinted, dodged arrows, leapt across the obstacles in her path. She was the quickest, she was the fastest, and no obstacle would slow her down, not like the weight of her pursuers' armour. Leliana twisted and turned through the streets of Denerim, it looked as if she would lose her attackers, but unfortunately, it was not meant to be. Leliana grunted in pain as she felt the arrow plant itself through her shoulder. She fell to the ground, her remaining dagger clattering to the stones of the street._

_Leliana tried to remove the offending projectile from her shoulder, but all it had gotten her was more pain and blood. The arrow was hooked deep inside her flesh. She had to get away. She had to escape her pursuers. Gritting her teeth, Leliana scrambled off of the dirty stone ground, retrieving her discarded dagger as she did. Again, she twisted and turned through the streets, mindful of the pain in her shoulder and of the trail of blood she was undoubtedly leaving for the soldiers to follow._

_But no matter what, they were getting closer to her now. They were gaining on her. They were coming closer, now. Until finally, they had cornered her in a dead end alley she had the misfortune to turn to. Stupid, Leliana! she chided herself. She never would have made this kind of mistake before._

_Leliana chuckled mirthlessly to herself; it had to end like this, hadn't it? Her story would be finished in a dirty alley in Denerim. Finished by Ferelden soldiers. Finished by this one in particular, raising a heavy maul above his head, ready to come crashing down atop hers. Leliana closed her eyes and said a prayer to the Maker, completely prepared for the blow to come and end her miserable existence._

_But the blow did not come._

_Her eyes opened at the sound of growling, of barking and the sound of a man's throat being torn out by dogs. It was the two dogs she had seen before. It was the Mabari and the mongrel, with their respective headwear. Did they ever not wear them? Or were they as relevant to their being as the bear and the dragon were to her, somehow?_

_Leliana's pursuers stopped dead in their tracks as they noticed the two hounds growling at them, circling their quarry, protecting her. The Mabari seemed to be more protective of her than the cute little mutt, but even he was not to be scoffed at in terms of his vigilance. Leliana felt her heart warm at the sight of these two brave dogs, so willing to die at the blades of these soldiers in order to protect her. She felt so unworthy, and much more appreciative of the pride Fereldans hold for their dogs._

_The dogs started barking before they charged at the soldiers, driven mad by the scent of blood and battle._

_Before they even reached her pursuers, the dogs had transformed into the two people she had seen before. The young man and woman, clad in armour and swords in hand, defending her as if she were some maiden, and they were the gallant knights protecting her from monsters. Men died as their blades fell upon them. The man blocked one soldier's blow with his shield while the woman relieved his attacker of his head with her sword. Leliana watched as her protectors fought. They were…magnificent. Blow after blow, they painted the streets red with the blood of men. One defended the other from an attacking enemy, and vice versa. They moved with such perfect synergy, it was like watching a dance, rather than the bloody conflict it was._

_Leliana saw something in the corner of her eye. Her head moved without her really noticing, until her eyes had taken in the sight of the young woman standing before her, her hand outstretched._

And that was when she had woke up.

Leliana was sitting, alone, in a corner of the Dane's Refuge tavern, a small cup of wine in her hand, one which she had asked for over an hour ago, and has yet to even take even a sip of it. She was deep in thought. For days, Leliana had been having dreams of these dogs, and of the man and woman. Who were they? Leliana asked herself for the hundredth time. Why would I dream of them? She had longed believed that dreams were the Maker's way of telling you something, an idea which had won her no friends within the chantry which had been her home for all this time. But she believed it nonetheless, she believed that the Maker_ was_ telling her something, but she is too stupid to determine what, exactly. If only the Maker wasn't so bloody _cryptic_!

Her thoughts were disturbed by drunken singing. _"'Oh, come!' they said. 'Come to the fair!' 'The fair?' said he, 'but I'm a bear! All black and brown and covered in hair!' And down the road, from here to there, three boys, a goat and a dancing bear! They danced and spun all the way to the fair!"_

Leliana knew this song, it was a rather ribald tune often sung by soldiers and fat men with beards. Soldiers like the ones who had arrived in the villages a couple of hours ago, approaching the good people of Lothering, and demanding if they had seen the woman drawn on the posters they carried. They offered a reward to any who had seen her, but none has, at least as far as she knew. They had even approached her at one time, shoving the piggish image of the woman in her face and gruffly asking her if she had seen this woman, this 'Elissa Cousland'. She hadn't.

So now, having asked the entire village by now, the soldiers had decided that a good pint was in order.

"_Oh! Sweet she was, and pure and fair!"_ Their rather off-key singing continued. Leliana thought it such a shame that a catchy tune like that would be sullied by men with a few pints down them. _"The maid with honey in her hair! The maid with honey in her hair!"_

Leliana shook her head at the soldiers, one of which demanded a fresh pint from the barkeep. Someone really should do something about them, if not the Bann of Lothering's own soldiers, then who else? Could it be her? Not really, she had given up that life. But maybe she could talk them into keeping it quiet for the rest of them? Probably not going to happen, it had been her experience that armed and armoured men do not really listen to lay sisters. Oh, damn it all! Leliana decided as she set her untouched cup of wine down on the table. But as she stood up, she heard the tavern door open, and her eyes were drawn to the three people entering Dane's Refuge. She gasped quietly as she took in the sight of the entering man and two women, recognising instantly two of them on sight.

They were there! They were there when she dreamt of dogs.

**End Chapter Seven.**

_Well there we have it! Chapter seven is here! Sorry that it had taken so long, I had decided that a little rest was in order after writing 'Save the World Again'. Well, anyway, I'm back! Yaaaaay?_

_I really enjoyed writing this chapter, especially the dream sequences (can you say: 'symbolism overload'?). And Bethany Hawke cameo! Alright, that wasn't really a highlight of this chapter IMO, but I did like the character in DA2, and she did mention Leliana in her party banter, so why not?_

_I'm probably going to get at least one person telling me 'Leliana's not thirty!' Maybe, maybe not. But it's been generally agreed upon by the DA fanbase that Leliana was older than the Warden (though, admittedly the ages differ between each fan), and I came up with my age for her based on some research I did (which is pretty much based on Wynne, rather than Leliana). Observe:_

**_Point the first: _**_Party banter between Wynne and Leliana. She mentioned to Wynne that she thinks that she looks younger than what she really is._

**_Point the second: _**_In the same party banter, Wynne mentions that she had 'some two decades' over Leliana. So, either Wynne is younger than we thought, or Leliana is **MUCH** older than she looks._

**_Point the third: _**_On the DAWiki, it is mentioned that Wynne's son, Rhys, is in his late thirties as of the events of Dragon Age: Asunder (having not read the book, I can't really confirm it, but DAWiki is generally pretty accurate, anyway). So again, either Wynne is much younger than we thought, (which in the case of giving birth to her son, ewww...), or Leliana is older than she looks._

_**Point the fourth: **I kinda pegged Wynne at being around fifty years old at the very youngest, anyway, and DAWiki seems to agree with me on this, so..._

_So there we have it, I hope that'll stop the 'age debate' which I'm sure would have come._

_Also, I've put in a couple of shout-outs here in this chapter. So, a non-existent, imaginary, internet cookie for the one who can tell me both shout-outs. Also, an extra internet cookie for the one who can tell me about the second shout-out: A, where it's from, and B, what relevance the origin of the shout-out had for Dragon Age._

_Before I leave you, I would just like to thank ThorShared, les111280, etherealpuppy, GLCW2, cj486, The Holistic Detective Agent, quadore, and redswann for choosing to follow this story. Thank you all, I really appreciate it! ^_^_


	8. Fear and Lothering

**The Wreath of Highever.**

**Chapter Eight: Fear and Lothering.**

The night was quiet in the Korcari Wilds. Elissa found it strange at first; she had heard stories of the wilds, in which the night was dark and full of terrors, full of wild beasts and wilder men clad in furs, waiting to swoop down upon unsuspecting travellers foolish enough to stray into their territory. But as she sat by the small campfire, standing watch as her companions slept, the lady Cousland thought the wilds at night rather quiet. There were no terrors to speak of, on this night, at least.

A cold breeze crept up on her, and she shivered slightly and edged closer to the fire. She missed home. She was all too tempted to just close her eyes and think of Highever, the smell of the salt air coming from the Waking Sea, the goings on of those under her father's charge, Dogmeat's refusal to get a decent wash, and the comedy from which always occurs. But then her thoughts of home threatened to be replaced with those which cast darker shadows. No! Elissa forced herself to concentrate on the here and now, on watching over Alistair and Morrigan, on _anything_ else if it meant removing herself from the pain of those memories.

Her gaze shifted over to the sleeping witch. Morrigan had all but refused to join them in their camp, choosing instead to set a fire of her own and stay there until they were ready to move on further north. Elissa got the distinct feeling that Morrigan didn't want to be here, which was certainly understandable, she was…volunteered – for lack of a better term – to go with the noblewoman and the Grey Warden, and she certainly protested enough to her mother – Flemeth, or whoever she was besides a crazy old lady – but that was not enough to persuade her mother otherwise. Morrigan was going with them. End of discussion.

She was a strange one, Elissa thought. Not just being a mage, but Morrigan was a severely opinionated young woman – more so than even some of the brattier teenage girls and bitter old ladies Elissa had met during her life – and yet so uncaring if nobody even listens to her. It was as if it was enough to simply voice her displeasure, regardless of what would befall her companions if they did not listen. 'No! Please, go ahead! If you truly desire to slay that dragon, then don't let me stop you, no! Oh, and don't come running to me when it _eats_ you.'

She's going to be_ very_ popular in the more civilised part of Ferelden.

She is rather hostile too, especially towards Alistair. She and the Grey Warden hadn't gotten along ever since they had left her mother's hut. But at least Morrigan was much more civil towards her, and despite her hostility, Elissa believed that – given the witch's abilities – Morrigan would one day be a valued ally to her cause, even if a friendship between them would not be in their future.

And then there is Alistair. Elissa turned her gaze toward his sleeping form, pawing at his nose and mumbling incoherently. Alistair was pretty much the opposite of Morrigan in every possible way. He was open and warm where she was cold. He was quick to smile, where she was quick to scowl. He quipped and joked, where she let loose with scathing remarks, mostly towards him. It was clear that they would only barely tolerate each other, only stopping short of one killing the other in their sleep. But it was actually quite amusing to listen to their verbal sparring. One particular sparring match about Alistair contemplating his navel and Morrigan's reaction to her mother's theoretical death – before or after she stopped laughing – was one to note.

Before they left, Flemeth had handed over the Grey Warden treaties which Duncan had mentioned to Elissa. She explained to Alistair that the magic preserving them had diminished long ago, and she had been protecting them ever since, waiting for the day when the Grey Wardens would return for them. It seemed to her like a strange thing for someone to do; after all, Grey Warden business was nobodies concern, save for the Wardens themselves. But now, at least Alistair has what he and his fellows were to come here for. That was something for him, besides wanting to get back at Loghain.

Alistair jerked awake, his eyes opening in a flash as he drew in a gasp of breath. "Bad dreams, huh?" Elissa enquired as she watched him gulp down lungfuls of air, as if he had but a moment ago been drowning. The Warden's eyes focused on the noblewoman sitting in front of him. "Oh it wasn't that bad," he answered, "there were puppies and kittens and dancing bears. Oh, and darkspawn, too, and taint, and darkness. How could I forget those?"

Elissa just stared at him as if he had told her that the sky was purple, and the clouds were made of spun sugar. "That…sounds lovely," she ventured, diplomatically.

Alistair just chuckled mirthlessly, so different from the brightness she had gotten used to in the short time she had known him. "You see," the Warden began to explain, "part of being a Grey Warden is being able to 'hear' the darkspawn. That's what my dream was, hearing them. The Archdemons, they…sing…to the horde, and Grey Wardens can hear that song as well. It takes a bit, but eventually, a Warden can block the dreams out."

"I…see," said Elissa, taking in this information. "That sounds frightening."

"Oh, it is," replied the Warden. "But you get used to it. Anyhow, I'm up now, might as well stay up till we start walking again…through this swamp. _Yay_."

They both sat in silence for a moment, until Elissa decided to break the silence. "Do you want to talk about Duncan?"

The lady Cousland could not miss the pain which flashed across his face, before the Warden forced it to the back of his mind. "You don't have to," he said. "I know you didn't know him for very long."

"You just looked like you wanted to talk."

"I…I owe you an apology. I should have handled his death better. He warned me, right from the beginning. Any one of us could die, at any time. In battle, in our sleep…" His fingers brushed the large bruise which coloured the side of his face, a reminder of his rather violent introduction to Elissa's fist, and that his own losses were far overshadowed by hers. "I shouldn't have lost it like that, I'm…so sorry for your loss, and it was wrong of me to… I can't even imagine, really, what it's like for you."

As Elissa did not miss Alistair's pain, the Warden thought that hers was plain for all to see. Alistair didn't know what he'd do if he'd seen his own family get butchered. Not that he knew his family to begin with. He was a bastard child, raised in Redcliffe before he was hauled off to the Chantry, and born to whom he was told was some star-struck maid and a man who should have known better. But the Warden didn't want to air his problems out to the world again. Maker knows what happened the last time.

"No harm done, Alistair," Elissa said, her voice barely hiding the grief she felt as dark memories overtook her. "There's no need to apologise. And I'll feel a lot better once Arl Howe is a corpse."

"I'll bet" replied Alistair with a slight grin before he became serious again. "About Duncan, I… I'd like to have a proper funeral for him, you know, when this is all over and we're not all dead. I don't think he had any family, to speak of."

"He had you," Elissa ventured. "You told me that he was like a father to you, you know, before I hit you," that caused the Warden to laugh. "And I didn't know him very well, but… maybe he felt the same way towards you."

"Like a father?"

Elissa laughed at that. "A_ son_, you arse!"

"Maybe, maybe," Alistair chuckled. "I think he came from Highever. Or so he said. Maybe I'll go up there, sometime. Put something up in his honour."

"That sounds like a fine plan," Elissa nodded with a smile. "Maybe I'll do the same for my family."

"You should. Thank you, Elissa. Really, I mean it. It was good to talk about it, a little."

"Anytime, Alistair."

"You know, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship," quipped the Warden. "You and me, fighting injustice and then getting angsty afterward!"

"That just sounds like a character in a story, and a terrible character at that," chuckled the lady Cousland, before she heard the tell-tale crack of thunder above their heads, and the little splashes of rain fall atop their heads. "Oh, bugger," groaned Elissa.

That was a sign that they needed to get moving again. There was no point in staying where they were when out in the open and the rain was falling. And fall it did, from the tiny raindrops from before, to a heavy torrent of water falling upon them like the wrath of Andraste. All three of the travellers were cold, wet and miserable, as would be expected when travelling through a swamp in the middle of a rainstorm. But Alistair and Elissa were having the worst of it; it seemed that the bloodsucking insects which lived in these swamplands had taken an interest in the Grey Warden and the lady Cousland. An interest in which neither of them had shared with the bugs.

"What do these things eat when they can't get people?!" yelled Alistair to nobody in particular, swatting yet another of the damned bloodsuckers.

Morrigan, on the other hand, was untouched by the insects which were feasting upon her companions. In fact, despite the poor weather, she had found their flailing around rather amusing. There was a trick to it, if one knew the wilds as she did. There was a plant which grew deep in the swamps, the extract of which was very useful to repel creatures such as these and some of the smaller predators. An extract which she possessed; though she saw no reason to share it with the others, she was enjoying the show too much. It was almost worth being stuck in the rain.

"Morrigan, you know this region better than we do," Elissa said, swatting her own bugs. "Are there any villages nearby?"

"There is," answered Morrigan, before she decided to elaborate further. "'Tis a small place of little consequence called Lothering. No more than a stop along your Imperial Highway, where travellers purchase goods from local farms and smiths before continuing on to more important destinations."

Lothering. Elissa was familiar with the village from her studies. West of Gwaren, quite far away from the teyrnir itself, but the lord of that land was still sworn to Loghain, though some say it was out of fear of what Loghain would do to said land, rather than actual loyalty. It was ruled by a Bann…Ceorlic? Elissa was quite sure that was the name of the bann who ruled there. He was the son of a man who fought for the Orlesians during the rebellion, a man who had slain King Maric's mother and made a gift of her head for the usurper Meghren. If she remembered correctly, King Maric, repaid him in kind, and his son only kept his lands – and his life – because he had sworn fealty to the king, and denounced his father for his part in the murder of Maric's mother. Maric made sure he and those like him understood the consequences of betrayal.

Elissa hadn't met the man, personally, but from she hears: Bann Ceorlic is barely tolerated within the nobility. He was the son of a traitor, and everybody knows it. There was only one other who was less popular, and that was the man she had sworn to kill: Arl Rendon Howe of Amaranthine.

In Ceorlic, Elissa may have found an ally; he had no love for Loghain, after all. But then again, he may just as easily serve up her head to the regent, if only out of concern for the consequences of not doing exactly that. Perhaps it would be best to pass through as quickly as humanly possible.

"I would go more often," the witch continued, "were it not for the town's chantry. It makes the village particularly intolerant and unpleasant for a stranger such as me."

"A chantry?" enquired Alistair, swatting another insect. "And they never, in all this time, thought that _maybe_ you were a witch?"

"Of course they have," answered the witch. "They have even called out their Templars, once. They found nothing."

"Then it's settled," Elissa must of killed about three dozen of the little bastards which tried to eat her by now, and there goes another one. "We head to Lothering."

"Then I suggest we get there quickly," advised the Grey Warden. "I've had about enough of the Korcari bloody Wilds!"

"Aw, is the poor Grey Warden tired of being eaten by small insects?" mocked Morrigan, twinkling her outstretched fingers towards him. "Or do you fear that barbarians will swoop down upon us?"

"Yes, swooping is bad."

Fortunately, the three did not have to travel far to reach the edge of the wilds and out into the Southron Hills. From there, it was a simple trek west to reach the Imperial Highway, which they would follow to reach the village of Lothering. Not even a day had passed before they had come across an unexpected encounter.

Elissa called for the group to halt as she stared out into the distance. She could see something run towards them. It was a small beast – or rather appeared small from the distance – brown, and charging toward them on four legs. The lady Cousland heard barking, and then had an impossible thought. It cannot be, her mind was telling her, I heard him die! But did she? All she heard was a yelp of pain. That could have meant anything. Still though, she dared to hope. Maybe, just maybe, there was a slim chance that he might have survived the attack.

"Dogmeat?" she ventured, taking a few steps forward as the beast came towards them. The shape was clearer now; it was definitely a Mabari hound. It's barking became louder, and its pace increased in speed, as if it was eager to join the group. She recognised that dog. No. She'd know that bloody dog anywhere!

"_Dogmeat_!" she cried before charging toward her beloved dog. Alistair and Morrigan could only watch as Elissa was tackled by the large war dog, which was licking her face and barking happily as she cuddled the dog close to her as she lay prone on the ground, crying tears of joy. "You're alive!" she cried, out of breath after having it knocked from her by the large dog, but despite that she was so happy to see her closest friend again. "_YOU'RE ALIVE!_"

Dogmeat barked in agreement as he lifted himself off of his mistress. Elissa kissed the big, burly head of her dog, happier than she had felt since the attack on Highever and Castle Cousland. Dogmeat was alive. He was _alive_!

"Wait," Alistair said, "is that your dog? But I thought he was killed when Loghain's men attacked us."

"Evidently not," replied Morrigan sarcastically. "I would hazard that given the fabled intelligence of Mabaris that this hound has been tracking you and your friend since Mother recovered the pair of you." Morrigan smirked at the Grey Warden. "And now, it seems, we have a dog," she told him. "And you are still the dumbest one in the party."

"Oh, you're so very funn- Alistair began, before he took a step forward, his eyes seemed to glaze over, as if he were somewhere else. Elissa and Dogmeat were too preoccupied with their reunion, and Morrigan was uncaring of his acting strangely. That is until Alistair had suddenly drawn his sword.

"Alistair?" enquired Elissa, noticing that the Warden was acting strangely and wondering why he had suddenly drawn his sword. She looked around. There was nothing, as far as she could tell, she could not see any enemies; there were no bandits or soldiers loyal to Loghain or Howe, lying in wait for an opportunity to swoop down upon them. "Are you alright? What is it?"

"Darkspawn," answered the Grey Warden simply, before he started for further up the highway. The rest had followed him, Elissa drawing her own sword and Morrigan readying her staff. The darkspawn. History has felt their black mark upon it far too many times. The Chantry tells the people of Thedas that the darkspawn were the result of Man's hubris, when the Magisters of Tevinter sought to usurp the Golden City from the Maker, only to be cast down and taint the world as the first darkspawn. In the thousand-or-so years since their…'birth', the land has been plagued with entire blights of darkspawn; immense armies of the creatures, countless strong, and led by Archdemons – the corrupted Old Gods of Tevinter – seeking to destroy and corrupt everything in their path.

Neither of them could see any darkspawn, but Grey Wardens were known to sense them, even when they were nowhere in sight. One might be forgiven if they believed that the darkspawn only came out to the surface during a blight, but occasionally – in the years in between the blights - raiding parties of varying sizes would venture out in order to raid the surface villages and kill everything in sight before either a Bann's soldiers or the Grey Wardens themselves wiped them out. And now, it had seemed that the group had unknowingly happened upon such a warband of darkspawn, and now Alistair, in his duty as a Grey Warden, was obligated to wipe these monsters from the face of the earth.

An obligation in which Elissa was about to aid Alistair.

They could see them now, further along the highway. A small raiding party, tiny compared to the numbers she heard of. Roughly two-dozen darkspawn, Elissa quickly counted, each of varying size. They were monstrous. The most numerous of the darkspawn warband were the Hurlocks. They looked like men, walked like men, but they also looked…wrong. Pale, waxy skin the colour of curdled milk, milky-white eyes, and rictus grins of sharp, needle-like teeth emerging from lipless mouths. They looked like drowned corpses, clad in patchwork suits of scavenged armour tied to their bodies with rope and wire.

Some of the others were slightly larger, though hunched over as to appear shorter. They had a strong, powerful chest and large arms completely disproportionate to their stumpy legs. They were like mountains of muscle, some of them carrying impossibly heavy slabs of iron like shields. These creatures reminded Elissa of a strange creature she had seen once before, as a child, when visiting a travelling Antivan circus. A 'gorilla', she believed it was called. She even shook its big hand at the urging of her father, who had assured her that it wasn't going to hurt her when Fergus teased her that it would eat her whole. And her father was right. But these things… Genlocks, these were called. And though that gorilla from her childhood was a friendly, yet proud and powerful creature, these before her were an abomination, a horrifying parody of that powerful form.

The one leading them was like the Hurlocks, though taller, stronger, clad in thicker plates of the same scavenged armour, and wielding what looked like an evil-looking warhammer, as opposed to the rusted curved blades of the others. This 'Alpha' leader was directing the rest in a strange, brutish way, probably on their way to Lothering, on their way to kill and corrupt the people living there.

They needed to die.

"Dogmeat, stay," Elissa commanded. The Mabari whined his displeasure at his mistress. The loyal hound wanted to fight alongside her. He wants to help her kill the foul-smelling monsters. "I'm not joking," his mistress continued sternly. "These are darkspawn, and I'm not losing you to the taint, so you're staying back here. That's an order." The dog whined again, but acquiesced as he sat down upon the road, not moving a muscle until called. Elissa nodded her thanks to her dog before charging the darkspawn alongside Alistair.

"Alright, who ordered death?!" shouted the Grey Warden as he took one Hurlock's head from its shoulders. What a strange war cry, Elissa thought as she ran her blade through the neck of one of the gorilla-shaped Genlocks, bypassing its great iron slab of a shield. "Come on, then!" she yelled. Morrigan stayed back, summoning ice from her fingers and freezing solid any of the darkspawn foolish enough to approach her.

Elissa's training had taken over as she killed darkspawn. Step and parry. Strike and kill. Two more fell before she was tackled by one of the Hurlocks. It snarled and hissed in her face, trying to bite a chunk out of her neck as she struggled to get this thing off of her. But by the Maker, was it strong. Alistair was busy slaying his own enemies, as was Morrigan. She could not expect their help, that is, until she suddenly found herself free of the darkspawn, realising that Dogmeat may have just saved her life, tackling the Hurlock to the ground, fiercely protecting his mistress. The Hurlock snarled as it launched the dog from its body, scrambling to its feet before readying its sword to decapitate the growling beast.

Its blow never fell.

With an angry war cry, Elissa had spear-tackled the monster. "You will not have him!" she shouted, landing punches upon the Hurlock's jaw. All she saw was red, she thought she had lost Dogmeat once, she will be damned if she lost him a second time. Not if she could help it. With her other hand, the pressed the blade of her sword against the darkspawn's neck, cleanly slicing its head from its shoulders in one downward motion. They will not have him. Not while she lived.

She stood from the headless darkspawn staring with hatred, drawing in heavy gulps of air as the anger left her, leaving only calm. She swung her sword at another charging Hurlock, slicing his throat as he dropped to the ground. Elissa looked toward her dog, who was sitting down and panting, watching his mistress. These were darkspawn they were facing. Their blood is tainted, as the stories go, and she believed them. If he had torn that thing's throat out... He was supposed to have stayed away from the battle, damn it! But he did just save her life.

"Bad dog," she said gratefully, smiling at her faithful hound.

Dogmeat barked happily, wagging his tail.

Morrigan was surrounded by darkspawn. As she realised it, the witch cursed herself for being stupid enough to get into this situation. She didn't even know why she is aiding these fools in fighting these darkspawn. She should have just stayed back and let them have it. And if Morrigan were to be honest, she should have just abandoned them at the first opportunity and gone back home. So why didn't she? It was not because her mother had volunteered her daughter's aid, it would not be the first time she defied Flemeth, so why hadn't she done so, now? Flemeth had reasoned that Morrigan was itching to get out of the wilds, that much was true, but to trust her daughter to two strangers, strangers who were hellbent on getting themselves killed for revenge?

'Tis madness! she thought as she swung her staff, impacting onto the face of one unfortunate Hurlock. Morrigan concentrated, calling up the mana needed for the spell she decided to cast. As she swung her staff across another darkspawn's head she spun and disappeared in a cloud of black smoke. What emerged from the smoke was not Morrigan.

Alistair dodged swing after swing of the Hurlock Alpha's great warhammer, turning and plunging his sword through one Genlock's heart as he did so. The Grey Warden thanked the Maker for pulling his sword from the Genlock just as the Alpha crushed the unfortunate darkspawn's skull, its brains splattering across the Warden. Maker, doesn't this thing get tired?! Alistair thought as he dodged another swing from the hammer. He'd been at this since the entire battle, at least in between slaying any of the other darkspawn which decided to join in. He'd been waiting for an opening, an opportunity to plunge his sword through this beast's black heart. But right now, the Grey Warden was not having any luck, the Alpha was quicker than he looked, and it didn't seem that his attacks were tiring him. In fact, it seemed to Alistair that the Alpha was getting angrier with each swing; as quick and powerful his attacks were, it didn't seem concerned for those who got in its way. It had killed two or three of its own like this. Whatever works, Alistair guessed as he ducked an overhead swing.

Then one thing caught the corner of his eye. He turned his head for a moment, seeing the giant spider impaling two darkspawn with its forward legs and biting the head off a Genlock. "Okaaaay?" was all Alistair could say. _That_ was something you don't see every day! And then he remembered where he was, yelling wordlessly as he backed away from the Alpha's hammer, losing his footing as he tripped over a dead Hurlock and falling to the ground. His eyes widened as the Alpha raised his hammer, rolling to one side as it came crashing down in a cloud of shattered stone. He rolled again to the other side as the hammer came down again. The Alpha roared in frustration as he raised its weapon high, determined to crush this puny little man-thing.

But the blow did not come.

Alistair felt the hot splatter of tainted blood as he watched the blade of Elissa's sword exit through a gap in the Alpha's patchwork chestplate. The darkspawn roared more in anger than actual pain as it backhanded Elissa to the ground, now more interested in the breeder that stabbed it.

This was the opening Alistair was waiting for!

As quickly as he could, Alistair scrambled to his feet and plunged his sword through an exposed portion of the Alpha's back, twisting the blade hard before pulling it from the creature's tainted flesh. The Alpha fell to its knees, howling in hatred. It's howling ceased when the Grey Warden plunged his blade through the base of its skull, exiting through its lipless mouth, killing it dead.

The battle was over. They had won.

Elissa started to chuckle quietly, so very happy to have gotten out of this alive. Alistair chuckled also, joining Elissa in her happiness, until their chuckles had grown into full blown laughter. With a smile, Alistair helped the lady Cousland back to her feet, embracing each other tightly.

"Your job stinks," Elissa commented as she tightened her arms around the Grey Warden.

The rest of the journey toward Lothering was thankfully uneventful. They had rested for a while, and burned the bodies of the darkspawn, lest some unfortunate traveller happened upon them and contracted the darkspawn taint. Elissa did come across some small fortune – literally – as they piled up the corpses, however. Some of the darkspawn – for some reason – happened to be in possession of several coins, roughly fifty silvers worth of coins. The three did wonder why in all of creation the darkspawn would be interested in money. It just did not make any sense. They were only interested in death, the bloodier the better. Whatever the reason, Elissa at least was thankful they were in possession of such money; it would be useful for the future.

Morrigan, of course, berated the pair for engaging the darkspawn in combat – _without_ the protection of armour – and risking the taint when their quest was meant to hold more importance than a mere darkspawn raid, a concern which was brushed off after the fact, though Alistair had something further to say about her apparent lack of concern. Elissa did have a question – or several – in regards to Morrigan turning into a giant spider during the battle, but Alistair had stopped her. It was _magic_, he told her. Enough said. He did, of course, agree that such magic was unheard of in his studies as a Templar. He had learned of the four schools of magic, of creation, entropy, the spirits, and the primal forces, but nowhere did the texts say anything about turning into bloody great big _spiders_!

But they were here, at last. "Ah, Lothering," Alistair said as they entered the village. "Pretty as a painting." It wasn't, really. The village was tiny, in comparison to say the village of Redcliffe. There was probably no more than a few dozen houses and various buildings throughout the entire village. The three travellers were discussing among themselves what their next course of action would be. Morrigan wanted them to leave the village as quickly as possible, Alistair argued that they need some new equipment – can't really get anywhere without some good armour, after all – and Elissa… "I don't know about you two," she said, playing with their new purse of coins, "but I am in dire need of a pint. A hot meal would be nice too."

Alistair agreed on that quickly enough.

The Mabari had to stay outside as the rest entered the Dane's Refuge – no dogs allowed – and the first thing Elissa did was ask the barman for three pints of ale. "I haven't had a good drink since I left Highever," she explained to the barman as they were greeted with three frothy mugs. She handed the others to her companions, though Morrigan looked like she wanted nothing to do with such foolishness as getting drunk, scowling at both of them. As she pleases, then. "Cheers," she said to Alistair as she drew heavily from her own mug. As she drank, a thought ran through the lady Cousland's mind. She _still_ hasn't had a good drink since Highever. Though good and frothy, the ale tasted as if it were no better than piss. But it was wet, and right now anything short of actual piss is good enough for her. That and the barman seemed to like the comment she made about a good drink. She was about to ask the man about the possibility of food when they were approached by two armoured men.

"Well, look what we have here," said one of the men, the leader Elissa guessed. "I think we've just been blessed."

"Uh-oh…" said Alistair. "Loghain's men. This can't be good."

"Didn't we spend all morning asking about a woman by this very description?" his friend asked the leader. "And everyone said they haven't seen her?"

"It seems we were lied to," the leader grinned evilly. Elissa and company knew that this was going to get real ugly, real soon, but they cannot use their weapons here, in the middle of a crowded tavern. If by chance they did not accidently kill some innocent villager during the fight, they would certainly be chased out of the village or arrested by the Bann's men. So it looks like they were going to have to run for it if these idiots try anything. But before either group tried anything, they were joined by a third party.

She was beautiful, Elissa saw, her breath catching in her chest, though she did not know exactly why. The newcomer was roughly as tall as she was. Redheaded, and in possession of the brightest blue eyes she had ever seen. She also seemed to be from the Chantry, if the sister's robe she wore was any indication.

"Gentlemen," her voice sounded lovely, with her Orlesian accent, "surely there's no need for trouble. These are no doubt simple travellers on their way north."

"She's more than that!" the leader scowled at the Orlesian sister, pointing at Elissa. "This is Elissa Cousland, wanted for treason against the crown! Now stay out of our way, sister. You protect this traitor, and you'll get the same as her!"

Elissa maneuvered herself between the sister and the lead soldier. "We don't need your help, miss," she told the Orlesian. "Please stand back."

"_You _don't need my help, maybe," pointed out the sister. "But these men are just blindly following orders, and they don't seem like the type to care who gets in their way."

True enough, Elissa thought, remembering with a heavy heart what happened the last time someone had gotten in the way of Loghain's men trying to arrest her.

"Enough talk!" yelled the leader, unsheathing his sword.

"Right," followed his fellow soldier, unsheathing his own. "Let's get this over with."

"Hold on!" said Elissa suddenly, eyes widening and raising her hands, her mug still clasped in one. "Before you do anything, friends, maybe you should look behind you."

The leader did so, only to be met with Alistair's forehead impacting his nose. The other one quickly turned towards Elissa, his nose exploding in a spray of blood and ale as Elissa used the mug in her hand as a knuckleduster. The entire tavern went as silent as a tomb as the two soldiers fell to their arses, groaning in pain. Elissa placed her shattered mug back on the bar as she regarded the Grey Warden. "Well, that was fun," she told him, "now let's get out of here."

Alistair couldn't agree more, but before they went anywhere, however, they heard the scraping of chair across the wooden floor. They turned their heads to the sound, their eyes meeting those of three other soldiers. More of Loghain's men. And they were not pleased. More scraping occurred and the three noticed that some of the villagers had decided to get out of here before they got hurt. The rest, however, must have decided to stay and watch the show, as they hadn't moved an inch.

"Bugger," Elissa swore under her breath as she took in the sight of the angry soldiers.

"Oh, this is great!" exclaimed Alistair, sarcastically. "Just when I started to think this place was boring!"

"Morrigan?" Elissa called out, her eyes searching for the witch.

"'Tis not I they are after," Morrigan pointed out with a smirk, taking a seat in a corner of the tavern and taking a careful sip of her ale, not particularly enjoying the taste of it. "Though I look forward to watching how events play out – as foolish as you are for choosing to fight instead of fleeing when you had the chance."

"Wonderful," the lady Cousland groaned, her attention back on the soldiers, including those recovering from their attack earlier, and then to the Orlesian sister. "Best stay back, miss. I'm going to do something entirely _stupid_!"

When faced with a clear disadvantage, do the unexpected. Or in this case; the entirely stupid.

She spear-tackled one soldier through a table, her momentum combined with the weight of the soldier's armour caused them to crash to the ground in a hail of splintered wood. Fist raised and hand grasping the soldier's tunic under his breastplate, she pummelled his jaw once before being pulled away by one other and getting punched in the gut and across the cheek by a third. She kicked the one in front of her in the groin, causing him to fall to his knees, grasping himself in effort to relieve the pain. She tried to struggle against the one holding her, to no avail, until she felt a hard impact vibrate through her body, seeing the splinters of broken chair fly past her vision. As the soldier let go, she spun and impacted his chin with a haymaker. He fell to the ground, and Elissa caught sight of her unexpected saviour; the Orlesian sister, grasping the remains of a chair in her hands.

She nodded her thanks to the sister, and then watched with awe as she dropped the chair and let loose with a flurry of punches and kicks against one of the men, and the next...and then the next. Elissa did not even know that the human body could even bend like that, as some of the moves this Orlesian used seemed impossible to perform, especially in something as restrictive as a Chantry robe. Elissa could only imagine how she would move if wearing something else entirely. And the way she twisted and turned around her enemies, it was as if she were a dancer, rather than a sister of the Chantry.

Well, Elissa thought, she certainly knows how to take care of herself.

Alistair was trading blows the leader of these soldiers and the fellow with the broken nose. He alternated between blocking one's punches and throwing his own towards the other. This had carried on since the fight had started, until the Grey Warden had decided that enough was enough and forced the leader away from him with his boot and grabbed the nearest hard object – a broken-off table leg – and smashed it across the other's helmeted head, knocking him out cold. His ears picked up the tell-tale hiss of steel being unsheathed, turning to see the leader advance upon him with a sword in his hand.

And advance which halted then faced with Elissa's sword, the blade placed perfectly against his neck.

"Enough!" she yelled, and by that word, the tavern brawl had ended.

"W-we surrender!" cried the leader, dropping his sword. "Andraste's mercy, we fucking _surrender_!"

"Good!" said the Orlesian, her blue eyes fixed on the woman holding the soldier up at swordpoint. "We can all stop fighting now."

"Agreed," said Elissa, coldly, raising the tip of her sword to lightly prick the leader's neck, a tiny drop of blood oozing from the shallow cut. "Get lost," she ordered the men. They did as ordered, helping their fallen compatriots to their feet and hobbling toward the door. "And you," Elissa called out to one soldier, the one who had gut-punched her during the brawl. "Soldiering isn't for you," she advised. "You hit like a girl."

They left the tavern without a word. It was not soon after that Elissa had doubled over in pain, clutching her stomach. "No he doesn't" she groaned to nobody in particular, the brave façade she wore diminishing into a grimace of agony. She collapsed in a heap to the floor, her back leant against the bar, drawing looks of concern from those present. "He _really_ doesn't."

**End Chapter Eight.**

_Author's Note: Yahoo! Another chapter done! I'm really pleased with how this turned out, and I'm quite surprised that this chapter is a bit of a beast compared to the lengths of my other chapters. I loved writing the section with Dogmeat's reunion with Elissa and the darkspawn (and let's face it, DA needs darkspawn, even in a fanfic based on a blightless Ferelden). _

_I'm sure you've noticed that I described the darkspawn more or less how they looked in Dragon Age 2. I know that the majority of the fanbase prefers their original appearance, but I for one kinda like the pseudo-zombie look of the Hurlocks (even if their apparel sucked), and sure you have to admit: Gorilla-Genlocks are a far cooler idea than the Goblin-Genlocks of DA:O, those things just looked silly in my opinion._

_I left in some more shout-outs in this chapter, though I'm kinda bummed that nobody got the ones from the previous chapter. Though I suppose that's more my fault than anyone else's, because when I put these things in I do so under the assumption that everyone else is a hardcore nerd like me. :P But hopefully, these ones are a little more obvious. Fingers crossed._

_Anyway, before I leave you, I would like to thank ARavingLoony, sspeaks, mjsweet, Streamer255 and OriginalAlcy for favouriting and/or following this story. Thanks all, you rock!_

_P.S.: Those shout-outs I mentioned from the previous chapter? The Sound of Music and A Song of Ice and Fire. Incidentally, check out "The Bear and the Maiden Fair" by christocakes on Youtube. I think it's a great interpretation of that song from the ASOIAF books._

_P.P.S.: It's probably just me that felt like this, but read the darkspawn section again, only this time to the tune of "The Endless Waves of Hurlocks" from the DA:O soundtrack. Epic. Truly epic._


	9. More Crazy

**The Wreath of Highever.**

**Chapter Nine: More Crazy.**

"What do you suppose it's all about?" Bethany Hawke asked her elder sister.

"Well, let me see," began Marian Hawke, raising a hand to stroke her chin absentmindedly as she answered her younger sister. "Everyone leaving the place, loud bangs and crashes, howls of pain… It's happy hour, obviously."

That answer had earned the elder Hawke a swift elbow in the ribs from her sister as they both shared a smile. The plan was that the Hawke sisters spent some time in the tavern and get bladdered with their brother, Carver, before he was sent north to Denerim with the rest of the Bann's men. Or rather, Marian and Carver get bladdered in the tavern while Bethany watched the pair make immense fools of themselves before Carver was sent north.

The word was; that Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir had declared himself as regent to the Queen of Ferelden, but has met with resistance by practically everyone else who wasn't Rendon Howe and the banns personally sworn to the teyrn. There was even the rumour that Teyrn Loghain had King Cailan murdered, so that he would take the throne. A rumour which – true or false – seemed to be believed by almost everyone in the country.

And it seemed that because of this, everyone in the Bannorn was gearing up for a fight. All the banns and arls in Ferelden were mustering their soldiers. Donning their armour. Sharpening their swords. If this carried on, Ferelden would face the threat of a civil war.

Ordinarily, Marian would say 'good on them' in regards to the banns opposing the teyrn, but unfortunately, her brother may soon be caught in the middle, along with the rest of the men under the nobility. And for all their arguments, Marian truly loved her brother, and wanted to keep him safe, whether he wanted her help or not. She wanted to keep an eye on him if he was ever called to fight, and would have enlisted with him to do just that, except…

Except that…Marian Hawke is her father's daughter.

Marian Hawke is a mage.

Being a mage wasn't all that bad. Sure if Marian came to be discovered and caught, she would almost definitely be dragged off to the nearest Circle, never to see the light of day again, or perhaps simply killed out of hand by some overzealous Templar. But in Marian's mind, she actually enjoys being a mage. To her, there was nothing like the feeling of magic filling her very being. There was nothing like the idea that the forces of nature and the elements were at her very command, ready to be unleashed upon those who would threaten those she cares about. There was nothing like the _sparkle-fingers_.

But enlisting in an army might just run the risk of her being discovered somehow, and if she were caught who knows what would happen if the rest of her family were investigated for mages. Who knows what would happen to Bethany and their mother.

No, for all the love she has for her brother, she can't risk the rest of her family, especially Bethany. When their father died, it was up to her to protect them. And protect them she shall.

Carver will be fine without her. He has to be.

And now, there they were, standing outside the tavern, listening to the sounds of chaos coming from inside, noting the large Mabari panting and sitting patiently by the door. Chest out and proud like a little soldier guarding some keep. Such a handsome dog, Marian noted with a little giggle at watching him standing guard like that. She gestured her sister to look at the big dog. "Try getting Dogmeat to do that!" she said to her sister, smiling. The Mabari cocked his head and stared at them, as if the elder Hawke had addressed him by _his_ name instead of her own Mabari's. By the way he reacted, maybe she did. No, surely it had to be a coincidence.

A loud crashing sound emerged from the tavern, followed by a pained yell causing Marian and Bethany to wince in sympathy for the recipient of…whatever that was. "Well, there goes our plans for Carver," said Marian. "What _do_ you think it's all about? Maybe it's about the strangers who arrived earlier."

"You mean the one who looked like the picture those soldiers showed us?"

Marian snorted, remembering the unattractive image of the wanted posters the teyrn's men had unceremoniously shoved in her face this morning. "No I don't think either of those women were Elissa Cousland. It can't be. The lady Cousland from those posters made _abominations_ look pretty, and those two were so…"

"Pretty?" ventured Bethany, knowing all about her sister's preference for the company of her own gender. She wished Marian all the happiness in the world when it came to her love life, but give her a brave and handsome prince anytime. Especially one with a sexy accent, the younger Hawke thought, Nevarran, or maybe even Free Marcher. Mother had once told her about how ruggedly handsome the men from Starkhaven were, back when she was just a girl herself, before she met and married Bethany's father. The younger Hawke had to resist the urge to fan herself as the image of some imaginary Starkhavener prince entered her mind.

"'Pretty!' Exactly," answered Marian, pulling her sister away from her...imagery. "Unless of course the 'regent' employs the worst artist in Thedas to make those wanted posters."

"And that possibility has never entered your mind?"

"Never," answered Marian simply, as if her opinion were as that of Andraste herself.

The door to the Dane's Refuge tavern swung open, and exited a small group of armoured men looking like they had just been through a war, their armour clanking noisily as they dragged themselves as far away from the tavern as they could. "Well, they certainly looked like they had a good time!" Marian told her sister as the soldiers hobbled past them.

"And so did they," noted Bethany, nodding toward another group of people – the party of strangers who arrived in Lothering earlier – exited the tavern, followed by the Mabari who was sitting by the door and…

"Sister Leliana?" Bethany whispered to herself, wondering what business a lay sister like her – a woman as kind and gentle as she – had in a tavern brawl with the teyrn's men and three strangers.

"Wait!" yelled Leliana just as they were about to leave the boundaries of the village. Alistair was helping Elissa along as they moved at a brisk place, the lady Cousland still clutching her midsection with her free arm whilst the other was firmly gripped across the Grey Warden's shoulders. They needed to leave the village, quickly, before anyone else decided to arrest them.

"Look," said the young woman from her dreams, what was her name again? Elissa. That was a pretty name, Leliana noted. "I appreciate your help back there, but we need to get out of here."

"I know," replied the Orlesian, her pace keeping up with the rest of the group. "Those men said you are Elissa Cousland, a traitor to the throne of Ferelden."

That had stopped them dead in their tracks. Elissa tore herself from the Warden's hold and spun to face Leliana. "So is that it?" she accused. "You help us fight off Loghain's men, win my trust, and then plan to turn me in yourself for whichever amount of reward is on my head?" She grit her teeth, ignoring the pain in her midsection as she unsheathed her sword. "Well then, I invite you to try," cold eyes watched this older woman carefully, watching for any move she could make, knowing just what she may be capable of, if her prowess in the tavern were any judge.

Leliana's eyes had widened in shock as they took in the sight of this young woman's naked blade raised towards her. Did she really think that she was some kind of bounty hunter? The Orlesian certainly understood the misunderstanding; it was certainly a good way to gain a mark's trust before betraying them, at least if seducing them outright was somehow not an option. It was what she would have done if she were still…well, if she were still a spy and an assassin, if she were still a thief and a seductress, if she were still a bard of Orlais.

But she is no longer a bard of Orlais, or a bard of _anywhere_ for that matter. She is Sister Leliana, of the Lothering chantry. Or at least she was, now that her dreams have become much clearer. Leliana was certain that they were messages from the Maker, they simply had to be! How else could she dream of a woman she had never even met, or even a man she never knew had existed until today? When she dreamed of dogs, they were there, the proud Mabari and the little mutt clashing the bear and the dragon. Leliana knew, deep within her heart, that she was meant to help these two young people. The Maker willed it, and she will obey.

But still, this was not how she imagined meeting the girl of her dreams. Neither was brawling with soldiers, her mind pointed out with a mirthless chuckle. Leliana watched the younger woman's movements. Maker, but she was beautiful, the Orlesians heart told her. And indeed this young Fereldan was a beauty to behold. The dark hair, the oval face, those pretty ice-blue eyes, and the way she moved; her noble bearing which betrayed the fact to her that she was a highborn lady. Were this woman ever to visit Orlais, she would no doubt be dragged off to some lord or lady's bed before she had even time to breathe. She would certainly have no end of suitors there.

And not just that, but Leliana thought her name sounded familiar. Elissa _Cousland_. The only Couslands she had ever known of were the Cousland family, the lords of Highever, a family most respected among the nobility – not only here and in her homeland, also – a family some even consider having a stronger claim to the throne than even King Cailan. Was this 'Elissa' then the teyrn's daughter, perhaps? But if so, what did she do? What treason did this noble lady commit against the crown? No, Leliana realised looking into the Fereldan's eyes. Her's were not the eyes of a traitor, not even those of a criminal. Was she then accused of a crime she had not even committed? Yes, she was. Leliana was sure of her innocence, if only from personal experience…

This woman was innocent, or her name was not Leliana.

Then why has she been accused of treason?

Admittedly, being cloistered in a chantry in the southernmost reaches of Ferelden does not leave one much opportunity to be updated on current events, she had only known about the lady Cousland's 'crimes' when the regent's men arrived, searching for her. Beyond that, there were only rumours. Rumours of plotting, of murder, of war.

Were _those_ rumours true?

But this was not the time for questions. Leliana watched the young man hold back the young warrior before she skewered her with her blade – or at least try – Leliana held back the smirk, knowing full well that she was no wallflower, and was fully capable of taking her on. Their dog – a large and rather handsome specimen of a Mabari war hound – growled at her and bared his teeth, fully prepared to die for his mistress if need be. That was the sort of dedication only a dog was capable of, and Leliana could fully appreciate such loyalty. The last of their party - the sultry young woman who was dressed like a barbarian - did nothing, however, instead standing several paces behind them, arms crossed and wearing a look of impatience upon her face.

Leliana took a step back and raised her hands, showing them that she was no threat to them.

"Please," she began, "I am not here to claim a bounty, yours or anyone's. Though you should know that the one on your head is a generous one, indeed," she gave them a disarming smile at the mention of the lady's bounty, one which Elissa did not appreciate as her glare intensified. Right, that didn't help matters, Leliana realised. "I'm sorry, but I speak the truth. I am not going to harm you."

"Then why are you following us?" demanded Elissa. "Why did you even help us? You don't even know us."

"I apologise for interfering," the Orlesian began, "but I couldn't sit by and not help."

"And who are you, anyhow?" asked the Grey Warden.

Leliana took a deep breath, and prepared herself and her explanation. These people certainly deserved one. "Let me introduce myself," this was it. "I am Leliana, one of the lay sisters of the chantry in Lothering. Or I was."

'_Was_?' Elissa, Alistair, and Morrigan each shared a look of question amongst each other before Elissa bade her to elaborate on that. "What does that mean?" she asked her before wincing in pain, her stomach still bothering her.

"I joined the Chantry to live a life of religious contemplation," answered the Orlesian sister. "But I am no priest, not even an initiate."

"Oh, right," quipped Alistair, "then you're just a_ houseguest_ of the Chantry? Why didn't I think of that?"

"I daresay that is because you have the equivalent intelligence of a toadstool?" answered Morrigan. "Correction, I am certain that the toadstool in question possesses a greater mind than yours, Alistair." The witch then turned to the Orlesian before the Warden had a chance to retort. "And you," Morrigan addressed her. "Surely there are better hospitalities to enjoy than from those fools in the Chantry? Why not involve yourself with someone with more wealth than sense? The world certainly has no shortage of those, and you certainly have the…_charms_ for it."

Leliana was about to reply to that, ready to give as much cattiness as she had received, when Elissa decided to intervene. "Elissa Cousland," she introduced herself, "'traitor to the crown', apparently. This is Alistair, Morrigan, and Dogmeat."

Dogmeat barked happily.

"A pleasure," Leliana said sincerely, bowing her head in greeting. "The regent Loghain accused you of being a traitor to Ferelden, lady Cousland, but I don't believe that to be true. And I know that after what happened in the tavern, you will need all the help you can get."

You can say that again, Elissa snorted in her mind. This was the second time that Loghain's men had tried to arrest her, though thankfully the outcome of the latter occasion was much more preferable. But it was only a matter of reaching Redcliffe, there, she would be safe. Arl Eamon would surely aid her cause, to bring Loghain to justice and help her place Howe's head upon a spike.

"That's why I'm coming with you," finished the Orlesian, causing the group to each stare at her.

"I'm sorry, what?" asked Elissa.

"I'm coming with you," Leliana repeated, in all seriousness. "The Maker told me to help you. Surely he would not do so without good reason."

'The Maker said so.' Well that was certainly not something Elissa heard every day, especially in a serious tone of voice coming from this Orlesian. Elissa tried very hard not to laugh at such a thing, as did Alistair and Morrigan, each of them visibly trying to keep a straight face.

They failed.

"Could you…_elaborate_?" Elissa asked her as they snickered. Of the three, only Elissa stopped snickering shortly after they started. This was cruel of her, she realised, and cruelty did not become a one of her lineage. She is a Cousland, and Couslands do not act like this. They were better than that.

Leliana lowered her head, completely understanding the insanity of such a claim that the Maker told her so. If she were in their shoes, she would certainly react the same way, but that did not relieve any of the hurt she felt from their laughter. But she needed them to understand why she had to join them. "I-I know that sounds…absolutely _insane_…but I have been having these dreams – _visions_!"

"_More_ crazy?" piped in Alistair, whispering in Elissa's ear. "I thought we were all full up." Dreams and visions from the Maker…right. Maybe it was something she ate, instead?

"Dreams do not always mean visions," added Morrigan, still sniggering to herself that the non-existent Maker would even speak with this Chantry wench. "Believe me, I should know."

"Look, miss," said Elissa, unsheathing her sword. "Leliana, thank you for your help back there, I'm sure that your heart was – is – in the right place. And you are right, I do need help in my cause…a _great deal_ of help, but…I think you should stay here. I'm about to walk a dangerous path, it seems, and there's no place in it for a lay sister, even one who could fight as well as you do."

The group started again on their journey, each of them leaving her alone until only Elissa remained, and even then, the lady Cousland did not remain any longer. "Farewell, Leliana," Elissa said her goodbyes. "Stay here and live in peace."

And then she was gone.

Leliana felt heartbroken, as if she had failed the Maker even before she had even begun her task. An errant tear fell from her eye, followed by another. Her entire being started to shake, in pain, in grief, in anger at her failure. "Stupid girl," she chastised herself. "Stupid, stupid girl!" How could be so idiotic? To think that the _Maker_ would speak to her through her dreams and tell her to help those walking away from her? Stupid girl. She wanted to cry out her frustration at the world, she felt the cry rise up from her throat, but this was not some wordless shout of hurt and anger. Leliana did not even realise what she had said before she had even said it.

"The bear and the dragon!"

The group stopped walking, turning toward the Orlesian sister behind them. "Excuse me?" asked Elissa, her brow bunched together in confusion and, perhaps…a small amount of recognition?

"The bear and the dragon," repeated Leliana, staring into Elissa's eyes, noticing the recognition etched in her brow. "You know what I'm talking about."

"Bears and dragons, apparently," replied Morrigan, her brow raised in annoyance before turning to Elissa. "This woman is clearly insane, surely you realise that."

"Maybe not…" said Elissa quietly, thoughtfully, her mind turning at the meaning of those words.

"You know what she's talking about?" asked Alistair.

"Heraldry," guessed the lady Cousland, who noticed the blank looks of those present and deciding to elaborate further. "Sigils. Symbols and motifs. They indicate the allegiance of the bearer. The twin Mabaris of Ferelden, for example, the tower of Redcliffe, the crescent moon and stars of Dragon's Peak, the laurel wreath of my family."

"The flaming sword of Andraste?" ventured Alistair, getting an idea of where she was getting at, though he wasn't exactly versed in the importance of symbols like one who was born and raised in nobility, like she was.

Elissa nodded, "for the Templar Order, yes."

"And the bear and the dragon?"

"The bear could represent Amaranthine, ruled by Arl Howe," answered Elissa, now on a roll. "The dragon she spoke of could possibly be that of Gwaren, Teyrn Loghain's land." She turned back to Leliana, her mind putting together the pieces of the puzzle that is this lay sister. "In your dreams, what becomes of the bear and the dragon?"

"You fight them," answered Leliana, remembering her dreams as if they had happened but a moment ago. She began to explain to the group, telling them a story of dogs, of the bear and the dragon, of their battles against Elissa and – strangely enough – Alistair. When she was done with her story, the group left her in order to confer amongst themselves.

"I still say she is mad," said Morrigan. "Let us be away from this place and be done with it. Every second we remain we risk another incident like the one in the tavern."

Alistair had another opinion. "Her plea seems wholehearted," he said, "and while she does seem a little…strange…she does have skill. I vote to let her come along."

"Alistair, she's an Archdemon short of a blight," pointed out Elissa. She did not mean for it to sound as cruel as it did, but she knew it to be true. All this talk of dreams and visions – even ones which _may_ reference their enemies – surely she was crazy. She believes that Leliana believes that they are messages from the Maker, but that does not make it true.

"Yes, but she seems more 'Oooh! Pretty colours!' than 'Mua-ha-ha-ha! I'm Princess Stabbity! Stab! Kill! Kill!"

"You're making me want to stab-kill _you_," scowled Morrigan, "though I can settle for turning you into a frog and then squashing you underfoot."

"Ew! You'd do that?" Alistair mocked her, his hands pressed against his heart in faux-shock. "You are not a nice person, are you?"

"Enough!" Elissa cut short their argument, not having the patience for it today. She started to think, to weigh the pros and cons of adding the Orlesian to their not-so-merry band. Pro: she is a very competent fighter. Con: she's crazy. But then again, aren't they all for going up against Howe and Loghain, against some very crappy odds? Alistair and Elissa at least had _revenge _for a reason for doing so. Howe murdered Elissa's family. Loghain ignored the Grey Warden's most sacred laws, and in doing so, his men had slaughtered a man who was like a father to Alistair. What did Morrigan have? Her mother told her to go with them.

So why can't the Maker tell this lay sister the same?

She turned to look at Dogmeat, at those dark, chocolate-brown eyes so full of love and friendship and shining with intelligence. Elissa's faithful hound and best friend barked his agreement to the unasked question: 'what do you think, boy?'

"Alright, Leliana," said Elissa, turning toward the lay sister. "You're in."

"Perhaps your skull was cracked in the tavern," said Morrigan cattily. "I can think of no other reason for this."

**End Chapter Nine.**

_Author's Note: Well…we're not dead yet. :P I hope you all had a happy Mayan Apocalypse! I certainly did, wink-wink. Actually, I tell a lie, not 'wink-wink', but I did have a cool December 21__st__ nonetheless. Anyway, this chapter was surprisingly hard to write for me, I have no idea why. I thought the fight scenes in the previous chapter were easier (and believe me, they were an arsehole to write), ah well. But I did enjoy the Hawke sisters cameo and writing Morrigan in full-on bitch-mode, though. I guess that's something. And yes, Hawke's dog is also called Dogmeat. Why not? I imagine that I shall be naming any potential dogs in DA3 the same thing. :)_

_This will be the last update for 2012, I'm going to be taking a break for Christmas and the New Year, so…yeah._

_I would like to thank Melysande and notthepenguins for choosing to favourite and/or follow this story. Thanks, I appreciate it!_

_Anyway, I hope you all have a Merry Christmas, a Happy Kwanzaa, a Happy…Lord Xenu's Birthday? I don't know…_

_Happy Holidays, and I'll see you in 2013!_

_Jonathan. _


	10. The Bear, the Dragon, and the Crow

**The Wreath of Highever.**

**Chapter Ten: The Bear, the Dragon, and the Crow.**

"I would have thought my men would be more than capable of apprehending one girl," Teyrn Loghain snarled at nobody in particular, for he was alone in his chambers, and drew from his cup of wine – far from the first one he had poured today. He kept going over it in his head as he drank. Elissa Cousland may have been a skilled swordswoman, but she was not Andraste come again, for Makers sake! Cousland was no trained soldier, nor was she a knight…she was barely even a _woman_ and yet she has managed to escape the capital – the _capital_! – and evade not only his men but even those looking to cash in on the bounty he had placed on her head!

And not only was there that, but it had gotten even better. Loghain had received a report from some of his soldiers which obviously a lie to conceal their incompetence. This report had explained that the traitor was defended by Grey Wardens and then saved by a _dragon_, of all things! Those men had her and they claimed a _dragon_ and swooped down upon them and drove them off? Loghain had them all flogged for lying after he stopped laughing. He was tempted to do more than just flog the fools, he wanted to lock them all up in Fort Drakon. He wanted to _hang_ them for their incompetence. He…wanted to drink his wine.

"Incompetent bastards!" the teyrn downed his drink before pouring another, barely hearing the elf servant announce the arrival of Rendon Howe, the newly named Teyrn of Highever. He glanced at the teyrn, dressed as if he were ready to go to war, clad in a suit of leather armour and carrying a sword – an unwieldy, serrated design, likely Tevinter – upon his back.

Loghain thought he looked ridiculous.

"I bring word, sire," began the snake, not bothering to bow before the regent – per Loghain's command. He never liked people bowing before him; he was no blue-blooded arse who enjoyed those kinds of pleasantries. Howe continued speaking. "There are demands from the Bannorn that you step down from the regency."

"Is there now?" Why wasn't he surprised? Of course they would be opposed to the only one who is willing to defend Ferelden after that child Cailan's unfortunate…fate. Why are they doing this? Ferelden needs a strong king, a strong king who would show their neighbours that their lands were not theirs for the taking, a strong king who would not sell his royal throne for a foreign one, even an imperial one. A strong king who was not Cailan. A strong king whom Cailan was not.

So be it. He shall destroy them all.

"Yes, sire. They are said to be gathering their forces – as are your allies. It appears that there is going to be a civil war, after all. There are even reports of the common folk protesting in the city, as well as in other parts of the kingdom from Alamar to Honnleath, denouncing your rule. Pity."

Indeed it was a pity. Damn it all! This was all for the people of Ferelden! Who was he even _doing_ all of this for, if not for the people of Ferelden?! The people he had fought and bled for during the rebellion against Orlais, alongside his closest friend, Maric. He certainly did not fight for those entitled fops that call themselves 'nobles' in the Bannorn. The teyrn slammed his free fist in anger, hard against his desk and scoffed. Maric must be ashamed. His only son and heir was the biggest fop of them all, concerned more with his own pleasures than actually ruling the country, as if he were an _Orlesian_ – and – Loghain remembered the correspondence between the king and that Orlesian bitch, Empress Celene – and he had even conspired to make Ferelden rejoin the empire!

Not only that, but those that Maric had trusted – Arl Eamon and Teyrn Bryce Cousland – men he had thought were men of honour, true patriots to Ferelden, had all but done their part to undermine the freedom which better men than they had fought to gain for those who would come after them.

And Loghain's staunchest ally was this…serpent…Rendon Howe. The man could kiss arse with the best of them, but he was willing to dirty his hands in order to keep his clean. One time, Howe had informed the regent of his plan to install a spy in Eamon's household. It had been learned that Connor – Eamon's only child – was a mage, and that the Arlessa Isolde was taking great pains to conceal this secret from everyone, even her own husband, who would certainly send her boy to the Circle if he had found out. Howe explained that he could provide the arlessa with an apostate mage who was willing to teach the boy how to conceal his powers. This apostate would be their man on the inside, gathering information, and – if need be – find a way to kill the Arl.

It was a despicable plan, but Howe had justified it as a way to head off Eamon's treachery, and deprive the Bannorn of one of Ferelden's greatest military commanders should they decide to use force. Loghain had to concede the point that said plan did have some merit. "Do it," he had commanded Howe with a bitterness he had not thought to feel.

"I also have an interesting report," continued Howe, concealing the smugness in his voice. "It seems that the Cousland girl was sighted in Lothering by some of your men."

"'Sighted'?" said Loghain, turning to regard Howe with hard eyes. "As in 'seen' and not 'arrested' nor even 'killed'?"

"That is correct, sire," answered Howe, bowing in false apology. "Apparently, she was seen in a tavern, conversing with some associates – one of them was even an _Orlesian_." Loghain growled low in his throat before drawing heavily from his cup. Though Howe's face was as stone, he smiled inwardly at this fool's reaction at the very _mention_ of Orlesians, as if they were the root of all evil, and must be eradicated with a fury reserved for religious zealots. And surely, that sliver of information would make the fiction that the Cousland family were friendly with the Orlesians just that more true in the regent's mind. It wouldn't be long before the regent starts to see Orlesians in every shadow, ready to plant a poisoned blade in his back.

Of course, the men who had given him the report mentioned that the Orlesian – this Chantry sister, whoever she was – only interfered just before the attempted arrest. Cousland wasn't 'conversing' with her. But it was in Howe's interests to bend that particular truth a little.

"Yes, sire," continued Howe. "It seems that your men tried to arrest the traitor, but she had initiated a tavern brawl and escaped in the chaos." This wasn't true, from the report. In fact, it seems that Loghain's men were driven off by Cousland and her associates, which in Loghain's eyes would have been no truer than the tale about a dragon swooping down in Cousland's defence. Howe had to stifle his laughter when he heard _that_ one. He did not realise that common soldiers had such vivid imaginations. A dragon. _Really_!

"How she had evaded capture for this long, I don't know," he continued further, "but there will be no doubt that she will act against you."

No doubt Cousland would ally herself with the Bannorn and fight against them if she was not captured quickly. She is dangerous now, but with an _army_ at her back? The regent may dismiss her as just a girl, but Howe was not as foolish as that. He _knows _Elissa Cousland. Of course, for some warped reason or other, she enjoys putting on armour and swinging a sword and playing the man – and no doubt, she likes to play the man in _other_ ways, too, he thought with disgust – but she is also her father's daughter, and she has that same damned look in her eye, as did her father and her brother. It was that damned look which marked every Cousland success that held him back over the years. She needs to die.

Speaking of which.

"I have taken the liberty of arranging a…solution. By your leave," he opened the door to Loghain's chambers, and entered an elf. Dark skinned and blonde haired, and sporting a tattoo across his cheek, a design of two curved lines pointing downward. The elf came in clad in dark clothing, some lightly armoured suit which appeared to be some kind of uniform, and judging from the sword and dagger ensemble he wore Loghain suspected just who this man was.

"The Antivan Crows send their regards," said the elf in his rich Antivan accent, grinning and bowing dramatically towards Loghain. "Zevran, at your service."

"An assassin?" Loghain could not hide his contempt for this elf if he tried; instead, he turned so that he would not have to see him and downed his cup in one clean motion. The Antivan Crows. They had a reputation for being the best order of assassins in Thedas. It is due to that deadly reputation, their skill at arms, and their knowledge of poisons, that they practically rule their homeland. It was said, that the kings and queens of Antiva were merely puppets dancing to their tune, and if they didn't…well…there was a reason the Steel Age of three hundred years ago was named such, when the Queen of Antiva at the time was found impaled by four swords, their handiwork, no doubt.

"Mere soldiers appear to be…_inadequate_ against the traitor, sire," Howe began, "we need to try a different approach. We need the best."

"And the most expensive," added the elven assassin, still grinning. Zevran spoke as if he were some kind of showman or circus master, rather than a man who kills for money. "But you can be assured, my lords, that it will be money well spent. This woman Cousland shall trouble you no more."

Loghain growled in anger before turning his head to glare at his ally Howe and this…person…he had brought with him. The regent could not help but feel like a hypocrite. After all, he did order Howe to arrange for an apostate to infiltrate Arl Eamon's household and possibly act as an assassin as well as a spy. It's just…looking at this elf, this man who kills only for pay. Dress them up however one likes, to him, an assassin was no better than any common mercenary. Loghain would rather use men who were interested in more than just their coin purse.

"Just get it done," he commanded the elf.

Both Howe and the Antivan Crow bowed before taking their leave. As soon as they left the regent's chamber the teyrn of Highever turned to his…employee. "Killing Cousland is of the utmost priority, elf," he said, turning his nose upward at the Crow. "Now, I ride for Highever. See to it that her head is on my desk at Castle Cousland and your masters shall be rewarded handsomely," he could barely stomach the name of 'Castle Cousland' when he spoke it. It was as if the name would endure the demise of the family who bore it. The family who held back his ambitions. The family he hated more than anything, and want it _eradicated _more than anything. The new teyrn of Highever must remind himself to ask the regent that he rename the castle. 'Castle Howe' had a better ring to it. Howe regarded the elf once again. "Do it in a timely fashion and I shall pay double your fee."

Zevran simply smiled. Double his fee, will he? His masters will be pleased at that. And this man must want this Cousland woman dead in a _big_ way. What did she do, precisely? Sleep with his daughter, or something? His mind went somewhere very dirty before coming back to the here and now. Bah. It did not matter to him. The only thing that mattered to him was how good she was. When Howe was procuring Zevran's services, he tried selling him on the falsehood that this Cousland was an easy mark for the Antivan Crows. But Zevran could read in between the lines. Elissa Cousland was a dangerous woman. He only hoped that she was dangerous enough to suit his purposes.

"Ah, do not worry my friend," Zevran bowed dramatically to his employer, chuckling, his rich accent rolling from his tongue. "Elissa Cousland is as good as dead, and in a 'timely fashion' as well. You and I have a deal."

**End Chapter Ten.**

_Author's Note: HE'S BAAAAAAACK! Hello again, my friends! I hope you all had a great new year (he says, two weeks after the fact…)! Sorry that I haven't been active since the last time, real life has been kicking my arse, and it's been pretty brutal about it too. Ah well…such is life. But anyway, chapter ten is here! It's a short one, I know, it's my shortest one so far, but please, bear with me. _

_Originally, this chapter was going to be longer, and involving more than just one group of characters, Loghain, Howe, and Zevran. Elissa and the gang. You get the picture. But then I felt that this section would do better as its own chapter, and so would the next section, and then the third which technically is still a work in progress, as of now. _

_And so I renamed the chapter, originally it was called 'The Crow, the Demon, and Sentimental Value' (and even that was a name change from 'Making Deals'), and then I split what I had written. Simple as. _

_I guess that you could technically call this chapter Part One of 'The Crow, the Demon, and Sentimental Value' instead?_

_But anyway, enough of that. _

_ZEVRAN'S FINALLY HERE! Okay, not exactly cause for celebration, but I bet you Zev fans enjoyed his introduction? _

_I would like to thank Skopje-Tiran, Mitrios, marshalld, Serfius, and Juggalo Prince for following and/or favouriting this story. Thanks a bunch, you guys, I really appreciate your support. ^_^_

_Qapla!_


	11. Just a Shield

**The Wreath of Highever.**

**Chapter Eleven: Just a Shield.**

"What do you think, my friend?" asked the dwarven merchant. "That is a good fit if I do say so myself!"

Elissa smiled as she adjusted the straps to her new suit of armour – a gift, courtesy of this fine dwarf, Bodahn Feddic. She felt better about herself as the weight settled on her shoulders; it was comforting to her, it gave her a sense of familiarity. Elissa and company had happened upon the dwarf and his son – a rather strange young man named Sandal – on the road. The dwarves were travelling merchants, moving from place to place, hawking their wares. They were trying to fight off a group of bandits, when the group had decided to aid them. In gratitude, Bodahn had offered them anything from his cart, be it new weapons, armour, an enchantment or two, courtesy of his son. It was an offer which all besides Morrigan and the dog had taken him up on.

"You and your friends are formidable folk, indeed," the old dwarf said to Elissa. "It's good to have fine young people like yourself on the road."

"That's what we're here for!" piped in Alistair, moving around in circles and stretching, adjusting to the weight of the suit of splintmail he was wearing. "Travelling the road, meeting horrid people…and killing them."

"Have a care where your eyes linger, Alistair," said Morrigan, who had caught Alistair's lingering gaze upon her as he stretched in her direction.

"Yes, well don't worry. It's not what you think," replied the Grey Warden, who had stopped moving. Elissa watched the pair as she did her own movements, adjusting to the weight of her own armour.

Even Leliana ceased practicing with her new daggers and bow to watch them. The bard had not even been with them for two days and she had learned almost everything about the kind of people her companions were. The way they moved, the way they spoke, the way they treated other people. Taking Morrigan, for example. Simply put, she was a bitch, a bitch who took pleasure in making others as miserable as she.

The Mabari hound, Dogmeat. Leliana had to chuckle a little after hearing his name. Such a strange name for a dog! Though she supposed it was a better name for a dog than, say, 'Bon-Bon' for example. Dogmeat was loyal, that was obvious. He was also very, very clever. That was obvious as well. He was terrifying when he has to be, but as sweet as a dove every other time. He was playful…and gluttonous – or rather…a lover of fine foods.

And Alistair? The bard smiled a little at Alistair. He was being accused of gazing at the witch, but in the short time the group and known each other they knew that the Grey Warden did not have it in him to be a pervert. At least not intentionally. In fact, looking at Alistair, Leliana was absolutely certain that the Grey Warden was a virgin. An absolute shame really. If he were born in Orlais, then perhaps that would be a non-issue long before now, unless he was simply waiting for the right woman to come along, Maker bless him. But his sex life notwithstanding, Alistair was a good man. Naïve at times, a little childlike, and maybe not the brightest star in the sky, but his heart was in the right place, and that was all that mattered.

And then there was Elissa. Leliana could tell straight away what kind of a person she was. She was brave. She was smart, perhaps a little foolish in terms of the choices she makes, especially if the brawl back in Lothering was any indication. If Elissa wasn't careful, that foolishness can and _will_ get her killed. But despite that, when the time comes and the rough edges were smoothed over, Leliana could see the leader Elissa was born and bred to be. The bard could see her at the head of an army, commanding and fighting alongside her men through hardship and onto victory. And looking into her eyes sometimes, Leliana could see something else, something she did not like.

She could see that Elissa Cousland is also angry.

Angry and full of pain, and sadness heavier than the armour she now wore. She hides it well, of course, underneath all of that politeness and her friendly smiles, her noble breeding and upbringing, but it was a mask nontheless, and Leliana was good at telling the masks from the real faces. The bard could see where she hides hers. Leliana wanted to ask her what made her so angry, but…

But it was hardly her business, despite her bard training telling her that it was alright to satisfy her curiosity. The Maker told her to help this woman; He did not tell her why.

"I see." It was Morrigan's opinion that all men were perverted idiots, especially when they deny it.

"I was looking at your nose," explained the Grey Warden, matter-of-factly.

"And what is it about my nose that captivates you so?" her eyebrow rose in question, wondering where this fool was going with her nose.

"I was just thinking that it looks exactly like your mothers!" he said, smiling brightly.

Morrigan scowled at the Warden, pointing her finger as if cursing him. "I hate you so _much_!"

"What?" asked Alistair, innocently as the other women started chuckling to themselves.

Morrigan glared at all of them, as if they were all in on the joke. Even the dog seemed to be laughing at her. My nose does not look like Mothers! her thoughts screamed at them. "Never mind!" she threw her hands in the air in exasperation before cursing in some barbaric tongue.

Elissa turned toward their host, the dwarf Bodahn, and smiled. "This happens a lot," she explained.

"Say no more, my lady," Bodahn waved it off. "Banter is a must when travelling with others. It makes the day go by all the quicker. Isn't that right, my boy?" he asked his son.

"Enchantment!" answered Sandal happily, clapping his hands as if he was a child shown a card trick. Yes…well. Elissa thought the younger dwarf to be a little…simple. Not that that was a bad thing, per se. The Chantry mother at Castle Cousland once told her that the Maker smiled on the simple folk, and she believed it. The simple folk had no cares in the world, for they were always happy with life. They knew no sadness, no anger…no hatred… If the Maker did not smile on them, would they still be as they are?

"Well, anyway friend," began the lady Cousland. "We need to be off now. We need to be at Redcliffe as soon as-"she stopped mid-sentence, her head turning toward something in Bodahn's cart. Something which had caught her eye.

"My lady?" inquired Bodahn, watching the human woman climb atop his cart and rummaging through his wares until she had found what she was looking for. What was she doing? What was she looking for? "My lady?" he inquired again.

She found a shield. It did not look all that special to him. It was just a shield. And not a very good looking one at that. It was pitted and scarred, and the wreath emblem upon its face was faded, but the human was staring at it as if she had found the most precious treasure on Thedas. And then her wide eyed gaze transformed into a glare as she regarded the dwarf.

"Where did you get this shield?" she demanded coldly, her eyes were burning with cold fire.

"I-I'm sorry?" asked the dwarf nervously. She was so friendly before she saw that shield, and now she looked as if she wanted to cut his head off. But…why though? he thought to himself as Elissa climbed down from the cart. It's just a shield. It's not as though it was a family heirloom or…oh. Oh dear. Not again.

Bodahn's mind moved from the now, and back to the days when he was a simple merchant in Orzammar. Back to the days when Bodahn would hire Casteless dusters to scavenge what would be his merchandise from the lost thaigs and those who fell in the deep roads. Until one day, a woman from the Noble Caste chanced upon a pair of bracers in his possession. A pair of bracers which once belonged to her brother.

"Thief!" she had accused, and Bodahn found himself in a cell, awaiting trial. But…it wasn't as if _he _stole them! It was those _Casteless_ who had gotten them for him!

It did not matter, to anyone else but him. No matter how loud his protests were, she was a noble, and he was merely Merchant Caste, and as guilty as sin as far as the rest of Orzammar was concerned.

But a few well-placed bribes here and there and Bodahn was a free dwarf again, on his way to the surface. His travels through the deep roads – incidentally – were where he had met the strange young dwarf, who he had adopted as his son.

Nowadays, Bodahn still gets his merchandise by questionable means – seemingly not learning his lesson – but he did make it a point not to take things which belonged to nobles. At least _knowingly_.

Until now, it hadn't been a problem.

The next thing he knew, the human's sword was unsheathed and pointing directly at him. The tip of the blade was mere centimetres away from his eyes. The others turned and looked at the display before them, all but one – the witch – shared looks of concern, wondering what it was that made their friend so mad.

"Enchantment?" said Sandal, a worried look etched upon his face as he watched the scary lady threaten Bodahn.

"Where. Did you. Get. This. _Shield_?!"

"Uh-I-uh… I got it in Highever, my lady! I found it in a junk pile outside Castle Cousland. Soldiers were throwing everything out. I-I saw no harm in taking it! Please, it's just a shield! I had no idea that it was yours!"

"'Just a shield?'" Elissa's voice started to crack under the heat of the anger she felt towards this dwarven scavenger. Her sword and the arm holding it quivered before the dwarf's eyes in barely contained rage. "This shield belongs to my family. It was my father's, and his father's, and _his_ father's! It was first carried when Orlais had begun its conquest of Ferelden. Its bearer died protecting his king against Chevaliers at the Battle of Lothering," With emphasis, Elissa nodded at the scars of Orlesian blades still borne upon the shield.

"It has more value to me than 'just a shield.' It is not yours to _peddle_!"

And with that, Elissa stormed off, the shield slung across her armoured back. The gathering was silent. Nobody dared speak for what seemed like forever, and all were as still as statues.

"The pretty lady is scary…" Sandal whispered, breaking the silence, his eyes now wider than his usual stare.

Bodahn sighed in resignation. "It's alright, son," he said, placing a hand upon the younger dwarf's shoulder. "She has a reason to be mad."

"I should think so, dwarf," Morrigan broke in, arms crossed and wearing a look of annoyance, her voice carrying accusation for all to hear. "Be thankful she did not run you through. 'Tis what I would have done, were I she."

Dogmeat growled at the dwarf, in agreement with the witch.

"But…" Bodahn sputtered in indignation, his eyes switching between Morrigan and the growling hound. "But I didn't know that shield was hers! I thought it was just junk nobody wanted!"

"Yeah, well, one man's junk is an angry woman's thing with sentimental value," quipped Alistair, his eyes hardening. It seems that their new dwarven friend was quickly becoming otherwise, given what had just happened. Sure, the dwarf did not know what it was he was going to sell. To Bodahn and – admittedly – everybody else, that shield _was_ junk, and it was not as if he had purposely stolen what was hers and her family's, but… Elissa was his friend, and she is hurting.

"Given what happened to her, I'd have to agree with Morrigan." The Warden then stopped to think about what he had just said. "Agreeing with Morrigan…that's just _wrong_!"

"I'm so _pleased_ you and I are in agreement," replied the witch, the sarcasm dripping from her voice.

Leliana just stood there and watched the lady Cousland storm off down the road, barely listening to the conversation taking place behind her. Her heart went out to the younger woman, and finally, she started to suspect what it was what made Elissa Cousland so angry. Maker, be with her this day, she prayed before running to catch up with her.

That was a feat easier said than done. Who would have thought that a woman wearing a full suit of armour could _walk_ so fast? "I don't want to hear it," Elissa said as the Orlesian caught up with her, still walking at a brisk pace, her voice still cracking in anger. Finally, after a short silence, she said, "That dwarf had no right!"

"Bodahn didn't know what that shield was to you," replied Leliana, the voice of reason. "It was just a shield to him. Surely you could see that?"

Elissa just ignored her. Still walking. Still angry. Finally, Leliana just stopped following her. "Maker's breath! Why are you so angry over this?!" she demanded, her curiosity – her _need_ to know – getting the better of her.

The question stopped Elissa dead in her tracks. The silence poured over them for those brief few moments Leliana watched the lady Cousland shake, until she finally turned to see the Orlesian, tears threatening to fall from her ice-like eyes.

"Why?" Elissa asked, moving forward until she was only a single pace from her. "Let me tell you a story, minstrel...Sister…whoever you are. Once upon a time there was a man. He was a good man who loved his family, and served his king with honour. One day, that king died. The man was visited by a good friend of his, they were to share the road together and share their grief for their fallen king together, as friends should. And then – and this is the important part – the man's friend betrayed him. He sent soldiers into the man's home, killed his servants, his soldiers…" Leliana watched the tears fall from Elissa's eyes and the bobbing of her throat as she tried to swallow the grief of her next words. "…his family…the boy…_even the little boy_!"

Oh Maker… Her heart went out to the young grieving woman before her. Leliana tried to take Elissa in her arms, the hard surface of the armour a little uncomfortable for the bard as she tried to hug her. But Elissa was unresponsive, save taking a step away from the Orlesian's embrace, throwing Leliana's arms away from her. "Don't touch me!" she snapped at the bard. Her eyes were as ice, as if to say that she did not need, nor _want_ Leliana's pity. I don't need _anyone's _pity! In any event, her story was far from finished.

"And then," she spat, "the man's daughter swore to him an oath before he bled to death. That she would seek vengeance against the man who had betrayed and murdered their family. His wife stayed behind when she could have gone with his daughter. She stayed behind to keep the soldiers away as their daughter escaped their home as it _burned_ around them!"

The lady Cousland wiped away her tears with an angry, leather gloved fist. "And then the daughter travelled to the capital with haste, to request that the queen provide her help in achieving that vengeance. But the queen's father had other plans. He declared himself as regent to the crown, he declared the man a traitor, his wife, his children, all traitors."

Leliana turned her head toward Alistair when Elissa gestured towards him. "The daughter came across four Grey Wardens, offering to share the road with them. It was good to travel with company, and so she accepted. And then the next morning, men came, demanding her surrender. The Warden's leader was convinced by his fellows to protect the girl from those who came to arrest her for her supposed crimes. They were all killed, all except for him," she nodded to Alistair.

"And then comes the dwarf and his son, whom the daughter and her friends rescued from bandits," added Leliana, her lightly-accented Orlesian voice was quiet, thoughtful; she was absorbing the dreadful tale is it was told to her. "He shared his wares with them in gratitude. But little did he know that he carried with him a painful reminder of the daughter's great loss, and not only that, but that he had it was an insult to their memory."

"_That _is why I'm angry," finished the lady Cousland, her voice low and cold, devoid of all politeness and noble upbringing, devoid of everything which told those who were with her that behind her hate lay a good and honourable woman, who was kind and loving. "Arl Rendon Howe betrayed and murdered my family. Teyrn Loghain declared my family traitors for crimes they had never committed. And I will not rest until I see both of them dead…or I am." She smouldered with hatred. Leliana could feel the heat of Elissa's hatred radiate upon her skin, as if it were a physical flame. "_I hate them_!" she cried.

And then she was off, storming once again down the road. Leliana just stayed there and watched Elissa's form getting smaller and smaller as the distance between them increased. Her mind focused on the tale Elissa had told her. The bard shook in anger and righteous fury. How could a man do this kind of injustice?! Not once in her former career, had she _ever _done as much evil as this man who had wronged Elissa Cousland.

And she _was_ an evil woman, once. She had betrayed the secrets of the men and women who had taken her into their confidence and even their beds from time to time, men and women who had each fallen in lust with her, if not love. She had spied on them for her mistress, even _murdered_ them for her mistress when she was required to do so. Dozens…_hundreds_. All betrayed. Many murdered.

But it was a job; it was what she did for a living. To her, it was like…she was a soldier, but of a different sort, one who fought her wars with espionage, seduction, sex…maybe even moreso than poisons and deadly blades. She fought her wars in the shadows, rather than the battlefield. She fought her wars alone, or in small groups, rather than among vast armies. But then even _she_ had suffered betrayal, and what she had just heard…this was something that even the Maker should not forgive.

Betrayer, murderer, killer of children! And all for _nothing_! Leliana's heart screamed for justice for that young woman walking away from her. She wanted to help her kill this man. She wanted to do it herself!

And for Alistair, whose friends were killed simply for protecting an innocent woman, killed by a man who had no real right to claim a throne, no real right to declare an innocent family as traitors to a crown that was not even his.

Justice for them both! Her very soul cried out. In the Maker's name, _vengeance_ for them both!

And then she stopped.

This cannot be what the Maker wanted for her…can it? Vengeance was such a dark path; surely He would not call on her to walk down it? She remembered her dreams, she remembered the dogs, so happy with her, playing and sharing their joy with her…before the bear and the dragon. Before Howe and Loghain. They were happy with her. She made them happy.

And then suddenly, the answer had opened her eyes. She understands now! It was there for her to see! The Maker did not want her to aid Elissa and Alistair in their quest for revenge. He did not want her to go down that dark path with them.

He wanted her to make sure that they did not go down that path either.

Moreso than that, He wanted Leliana to make sure that Elissa did not go down that path, lest it made her as evil as the man who wronged her.

Elissa did not get far before she stopped suddenly. What am I doing? She thought to herself, running a calming hand through her dark hair. Leliana did not deserve her anger; even _Bodahn_ did not even deserve her anger. She felt like a child throwing a tantrum, striking against those who would try and calm her. This kind of behaviour did not befit a _grown woman_, much less a grown woman named Cousland. "Bugger," she said to herself. With a heavy sigh, she unslung her family's shield and stared at it, her gloved fingers caressing every scar and dent upon the face before resting atop the cracked and faded image of the wreath of the Cousland family. The Wreath of Highever.

Elissa stared at this shield deep in thought.

This shield was a family heirloom.

This shield had seen so much history, had been carried by so many great men in battle.

This shield – like the family sword strapped to her waist – was a reminder of the courage which was expected of every Cousland.

This shield…was just a shield.

Sentimental value was nothing to be angry over, her mind told her. Her heart was telling her otherwise, but thankfully, passion gave way before reason. She started back to the others, her head hung low in shame. She moved with sightless eyes, her heart filled with sorrow. She felt a presence beside her, felt a hand reaching out to grasp hers with gentleness. She turned her sightless gaze and focused, her vision revealing the beautiful Orlesian bard beside her, holding her hand.

Their eyes met, her's filled with so much anger, and the bard's bright with friendship and caring. Looking into Leliana's eyes, Elissa felt…something. She could not pin down exactly what it was she felt for the bard, but she was sure that what she felt was more than just mere friendship. It was not like the feeling of comradeship she felt for Alistair, nor was it the bond of true, undying companionship she felt for Dogmeat, or the amused tolerance shared between she and Morrigan. It was…more than that. But what was it, this…'something'?

Leliana smiled at the lady Cousland, bright and full of joy, joy the older woman was more than willing to share with her. And not only that, but her smile was telling Elissa something else, as if the older woman was communicating something to her, silently, but somehow as clear as if she were actually speaking.

"You don't have to be angry anymore. I'm here for you."

Elissa couldn't help but smile back, and squeezed Leliana's hand tightly.

"Thank you," her own smile told the bard.

**End Chapter Eleven.**

_Author's Note: Ha! Bet you didn't expect this chapter to be finished so quickly, eh? EH?! Nah, actually this is just a slightly bulkier version of the second section of a larger chapter I was working on before deciding on splitting it into smaller chapters. Personally, I think that it works better this way._

_So here we are! Chapter Eleven! I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it, I thought that the unrelenting anger Elissa was showing towards Bodahn and Leliana came out well, I thought that the story she told the bard felt a little bit like a take that to Leliana, considering how much she enjoys telling stories, and Elissa's wasn't a particularly nice one. And the little messages Leliana and Elissa communicated silently to each other that she doesn't have to be angry anymore, I thought that was sweet._

_That 'something' that Elissa felt as she looked in Leliana's eyes, you probably guessed it, but to me, that was the moment where Elissa had fallen in love with Leliana, though considering that she was mulling over what that 'something' was…yeah, she hadn't figured it out yet. But it's there._

_BODAHN AND SANDAL! Yep, for you Sandal fans out there, I'm looking at you (figuratively, of course), yes you. I've got one thing to say to you. "Enchantment!" So there…that's you told. ^_^_

_And I would just like to thank etherealpuppy for favouriting my story, and so quickly after I published my previous chapter too, thanks for that!_

_Shutting up now…_


	12. A Fair Deal

**The Wreath of Highever.**

**Chapter Twelve: A Fair Deal.**

"Eamon!" Bann Teagan called, getting his elder brother's attention. These days, it was getting difficult for the Arl of Redcliffe to pay attention, these days he felt weak, and his mind was beginning to cloud. He felt so…old. The arl was meant to be having this meeting with Bann Teagan, discussing possible battle plans if the regent ever decided to force the nobles to step in line, which was likely, given how the man's mind worked. Loghain was not a creature of politics, and he was more inclined to use the stick more than the carrot to get what he wants. But Loghain was the Hero of River Dane, a liberator of Ferelden, King Maric's closest friend, and he commanded a great deal of respect among some of their peers. He shook his head clear, his mind coming back into focus as he regarded his younger brother.

"Eamon?" Teagan said, concern for his brother lining his face. "Eamon, are you alright?"

"I'm just getting old," he grumbled silently, his younger brother not hearing him. Eamon certainly felt a great deal older than his age – almost half a century had gone by since his birth. Which was strange, he thought. Not even a fortnight had passed since he started to suddenly feel like this, and before that he was as strong as a bull, and his mind was sharper than any sword. "I'm fine, Teagan," he told his brother, waving his hand, forcing it not to shake with age lest he worried Teagan further.

Arl Eamon Guerrin was a large man. He was tall and muscular where his brother was smaller and thinner, with a broad face, a broader nose and a jaw like an anvil, framed with a beard which would make a dwarf envious. His old friend Bryce once joked that Eamon must have been the tallest dwarf in Thedas, given the way he looked. Maybe they could make some extra coin, parading Eamon around Denerim as some kind of freakshow, as Bryce suggested. Or maybe Eamon could knock Bryce's teeth out, as he threatened.

Bryce. Eamon's mind drifted to thoughts of his departed friend. He had known the Teyrn of Highever since they were boys. They fought together in the rebellion – at least before he and his brother was shipped off to the Free Marches before the end. It was such a painful tragedy that the Couslands had to meet their fate, and in such a brutal manner. When the arl had heard of the massacre at Castle Cousland, Eamon was outraged; he shook with anger after hearing that almost the entire family was killed. That snake, Rendon Howe could say what he likes, the arl of Redcliffe thought. Bryce Cousland was no traitor! And even if he were, did Howe think it absolutely necessary to kill Bryce and his wife? His daughter-in-law? His _grandson_?!

But Eamon was relieved to hear that his friend's youngest, Elissa, at least survived. And his son, Fergus, was not at the castle. He may have disappeared off the face of Ferelden, but there have been no reports of his death. Thank the Maker for small miracles.

Elissa… Eamon hadn't seen young Elissa for a long time, how old will she be, now? Twenty? She is a grown woman, now. He had watched her successes in Gwaren, at the tourney held there three years ago, and even then Eamon knew that she would become a swordswoman of great skill.

He is going to need that skill in the days to come. If she survived long enough to come here.

"Sorry, Teagan," he apologised after looking at his brother's concerned face. "My mind decided to take a trip."

"Are you sure you're alright?"

"I'm fine," the arl nodded, "I'm fine. I'm just…" Getting old. Getting senile. He shook his head once more. Keep focused, Eamon, for Andraste's sake! "You were saying?"

Teagan looked sceptical of his brother's reassurances. Nonetheless, "There's been word," he began, "Loghain has begun gathering troops, as are the banns who have sworn allegiance to him." The Bann of Rainsfere watched his elder brother pace across the chamber as he sat by the big wooden table in the middle of the room. Teagan was worried for Eamon, usually his brother was stronger and healthier than a man half his age, and yet...looking at him now, something was very wrong with him. Teagan knows this in his bones. Even so, he continued, "We have heard that 'Teyrn' Howe," he spat the name as if it were poison. It galled him to speak Howe's new title as Teyrn of Highever, granted by the crown in gratitude for the slaughter he was responsible for. Teagan breathed a heavy sigh. "We have heard that Howe is preparing to ride to Highever and demand that the banns sworn to Teyrn Cousland speak oaths of fealty to him and the regent."

Eamon gave a short laugh. "That will be the day!" he said. It is well known to the arl that the loyalty those banns in the northern Bannorn felt toward Bryce Cousland and his family will long survive their death. And not just they, but even the common folk and the freeholders they are responsible for have all but declared young Elissa to be their new Teyrna. "Howe calling himself a teyrn doesn't make it so!" said one their reported protests. "There is only _one_ ruler in Highever, and that ruler's name is _Cousland_!" said another.

And why not? The Cousland family was more popular than even the royal Theirin family. They have ruled over their teyrnir since before there was even a Ferelden. And from the founding of their country, to the Orlesian occupation, to the end of the rebellion and the thirty years since then, they have watched over and defended the Fereldan people. And while they were far from perfect, they have proven time and time again that they were worthy of the common folk's respect and their loyalty, that they were worthy of their office. Yes. Eamon could see why they would want young Elissa to be their teyrna, rather than 'Teyrn' Rendon Howe – who made _darkspawn_ seem personable. And truth be told, Eamon believed that she would be an exceptional leader for the common folk. She is Bryce's daughter, after all.

Speaking of which.

"Has there been any more word about Bryce's youngest?" His brother had told him of what happened in Denerim. He had been too ill to travel, too weak, it was this damn feeling of old age he has been having recently. But Teagan told him the tale. Were he there, Eamon would have agreed with his younger brother, that the king's fate was…fortuitous, for Teyrn Loghain. With the king dead, he could take the throne and his daughter would not do anything, save the odd protest. And it was no secret to anyone that Loghain disliked his son-in-law, seeing only a fop rather than the hero his father was.

Cailan was his nephew, on his mother's side. And while it was true that Cailan was…not the man his father was, his nephew was still their king. And while Ferelden has suffered tyrants before – men such as Arland and that Orlesian bastard; the usurper Meghren – and would likely suffer them in the future, for all his faults Cailan was far from being like such men.

And then a terrible thought came to the Arl of Redcliffe. What if Teyrn Loghain read the letter he had sent to his nephew, advising the king to set aside his daughter and wed someone else who could bear him an heir? If so, then it would give the Teyrn of Gwaren a very good reason to have his nephew killed other than a simple ambition to sit on the throne as Ferelden's regent. Arl Eamon did not bear the queen any ill will. Nor did he mean any insult to her, he was quite fond of Queen Anora in fact, but pragmatism demands that a king begets an heir, lest his country descends into a war over who gets the throne. Not unlike their current situation.

Loghain evaded the question of Cailan's death when presented to him, as Teagan explained. But if that was true, if Loghain had killed his only nephew, well…Eamon would have to remind himself to ask the good teyrn for the truth. And if he didn't like the answer he is given, then Loghain Mac Tir had better pray he dies before he gets his hands on him.

And then comes the lady Elissa, as Teagan informed him that day, requesting that the queen aid her in achieving justice for her family, only to be declared a traitor like Bryce has been. She had to fight and kill some of the palace guards before taking Teagan hostage. Eamon wasn't thrilled to have heard that part, but his brother had assured the young Cousland that he was not her enemy. He had even invited her to come to Redcliffe, where she would be safe from Loghain and Howe. And she would have been. Neither of them would dare try anything against someone under his protection.

Teagan shook his head. "I have heard nothing," he said sadly, "only that she disappeared not long after she left the capital. I had men try and track her down, but...there's nothing, Eamon. It's almost as if she vanished off the face of Thedas."

"Disappeared," repeated Eamon. Just like her brother, Fergus. Before Elissa had released him, she asked if Teagan could search for her brother, if he could. Teagan certainly asked around, but hadn't gotten any further than hearing that Fergus and his escort had all disappeared after reaching Denerim. Both brothers suspected foul play, but they also held hope that Fergus Cousland still lives. Maker knows the poor girl could use the good news.

"Anyway," said Teagan, "with Loghain assembling his army, we cannot afford to wait any longer. We need to gather our own men and join forces with the banns who oppose the regent."

Eamon stopped pacing when he reached the window overlooking his castle's courtyard. Looking outside, he watched his soldiers training and his servants busying themselves about their various concerns. And he watched his wife and son, Connor and his beloved Isolde, taking a walk, accompanied by his son's new tutor, Jowan.

Eamon did not entirely trust Jowan. As far as he could tell, the man did not do anything wrong, but… There was something about him. He seemed nervous, sometimes, as if he had a secret so terrible that he was scared of what would happen if that secret had gotten out. He also had that look in his eyes, like he had done something wrong and he knows it. The look of guilt. Eamon did not want him here, tutoring his son, but Isolde had vouched for him, telling the arl that Jowan was a man he could trust. He could not, but…he trusts his wife, and so he decided that Jowan would stay…for now.

Eamon wondered what it was they were talking about. Watching them, and seeing the attentive look on Connors face, maybe it was one of Jowan's lessons. Well, he thought, feeling slightly dizzy as he watched them, at least that is one point in the man's favour. Connor could barely keep his eyes open with his other tutors, that this one was keeping his son's attention as he taught; he was obviously doing something right. Maybe Eamon should keep him on after all.

He turned his gaze away from the window, his attention back on his younger brother. "Ride to Rainsfere and gather your men," he said, nodding before a small fit of coughing came over him. Blasted castle air. "I shall do the same here," cough-cough, "I shall also send riders to those banns who aren't sympathetic to either Loghain or Howe and request a meeting with-" cough-cough-cough.

"Are you well?" asked Teagan, concerned.

"I'm fine." No he wasn't. Eamon felt a wave of weakness fall upon him. He was finding it rather hard to breathe. "Really, Teagan, I'm-" cough-cough.

"Eamon!" Teagan cried as he watched his brother collapse over the big table. He scrambled to his feet and was by Eamon's side in two strides, grasping the big man in his arms. "Eamon, answer me!"

Eamon did not. _Could_ not. He was too weak to even form words. Instead, another fit of coughing rode over him and he could barely keep his eyes open. Teagan tried shaking his elder brother out of whatever afflicted him, as if that would do anything. But, alas, it did nothing to help his brother.

"Help!" he called out to someone, anyone, who could be nearby. "Somebody help me! The arl has fallen ill!"

* * *

At the command of his patron, Arlessa Isolde, Jowan summoned his magic for the third time now, trying to relieve the arl of this…illness. But…alas, it was not meant to be, the magic did not work. "Forgive me, my lady," he addressed the arlessa, genuine sorrow in his voice. "But there is nothing I can do. Arl Eamon is dying."

"No!" Arlessa Isolde cried out, burying her head in her husband's torso. It pained the mage to see her anguish. The arl seemed like a good man, and it was obvious that Isolde loved him very much. But what he told her was correct, there was nothing he can do, and he knows why. He knows _exactly_ what is wrong with the arl.

Arl Eamon Guerrin has been poisoned. By him.

That was the deal. Once upon a time, Jowan was a mage in the Circle of Magi at Kinloch Hold, on the other side across Lake Calenhad from where Redcliffe Castle sat. And then, one day, he fell in love. Her name was Lily, an initiate from the Chantry. She was no beauty, but that did not matter to him, he was no deity of beauty himself, and he did not love her for her looks. She was a kind and gentle soul. That was what attracted Jowan to her. Their love carried on, in secret, until Jowan had been overcome by a great fear which had crawled into his mind and taken root. It was the fear that the circle would make him tranquil, into one of those mindless drones who shuffle about the tower, going through life without emotion, or anything else which resembled a soul. It made sense to him; they had not selected him for his Harrowing yet, even when mages who haven't been with the circle as long he had. They think him too weak to survive, or…or maybe they suspect his dirty little secret, which _would_ justify the Rite of Tranquillity if it ever came to light.

He had to escape. He had to get out of the tower, and start a new life with Lily at his side. That was the plan, anyway. But it was hindered by the fact that even if he did escape, it was only a matter of time before the Templars found him. He had to make sure that they could not when the time came.

In this, he enlisted the aid of Daylen Amell, a mage from the Free Marches, and his best friend. He, Lily, and Daylen broke into the vault where the circle kept its phylacteries – the magical tracking devices which the Templars use to track their runaway mages. Jowan destroyed his own phylactery, dropping the tiny vial of blood to the stone ground where it shattered into a hundred tiny bloody pieces. He was free now, he could escape without having to watch over his shoulder for Templars, but his joy was not to last.

The Templars had found out what they were doing.

Cornered and desperate to save himself and his love, he used forbidden magic against his foes and in doing so, revealed his secret. He was a blood mage, a maleficar. In revealing his secret, Lily was shocked and ashamed that she would love a man like him, and she banished Jowan from her sight. And so he escaped, like a coward, abandoning the woman he loved and his best friend to rot in the Aeonar – the mages prison, reserved for the worst of maleficarum and apostates.

"Lily…Daylen…I am so sorry," he wept, the very moment he breathed in the free air which felt like smoke in his lungs.

Even without Jowan's phylactery, the blood mage did not get very far before the Templars had tracked him down and cornered him in Redcliffe. But even so, it seemed as if the Maker had a sense of humour when a man named Howe delivered Jowan from his pursuers...violently. In return for this kindness, Howe required that he spy on Arl Eamon, and – if necessary – kill him.

It had apparently become necessary.

* * *

Connor had to try. He had to do something that could help his father. He has this magic for a reason, and he'll be damned before he uses it to try and help. The boy snuck into his father's chambers at night, having all but commanded by his mother not to disturb his father, and certainly not do _anything_ which would bring attention to his…condition.

Connor was angry with his mother after that. Did she care more about his being a mage than trying to heal her husband?

Well, she did say not to do anything which would bring _attention_ to him.

And so he decided upon this course of action. He would wait until everyone was asleep, he would evade the guards patrolling the corridors, he would enter the chambers where his father was dying…and he would heal him. He has _got_ to heal him!

Entering the chamber after successfully evading his father's guards, Connor turned and stared at his dying father. He looked so old. While Eamon was hardly a young man when Connor was born, he was strong, and he thought that his father would live to be a hundred years old.

"Father…" he said quietly, not quite believing yet that his father was lying here, barely breathing.

He was not long for this world.

No! his mind screamed. I will not allow it! Gritting his teeth, he stretched out his arms and concentrated. He would do what his tutor could not. He would heal his father. Summoning the magic required for such a task, Connor recalled all of the lessons Jowan had taught him regarding healing magic. He was to concentrate. He was to will the mana into a force of Creation. He was to _heal_.

He failed.

Connor drew in heavy gasps of air, the spell casting taking a lot out of him. It didn't work. But Connor would not give up. Again, and again, and again did he cast the healing magic upon his father, _willing_ him to live. But it was all for nothing. Eamon was still dying.

Finally, Connor simply gave up.

He felt like such a stupid boy. If his teacher could not do anything, how arrogant was he to think that he could, a mere stupid boy?

He sank to his knees, tears flowing down his cheeks. "Father!" he cried, burying his face in his father's arm until he cried himself to sleep, his last thoughts before reaching his dreams praying for a miracle.

* * *

"_Why do you cry, child?" the gentle voice awoke the young Guerrin boy._

_His head shot from the bed his father laid in, eyes wide open and not quite taking the sights he saw. This was not Father's chamber, he thought. Not quite, at least. It was the same room, but the walls have crumbled into ruin. This was not Redcliffe. Not quite. Connor recognised certain parts of his father's lands, but they were not where he remembered them being, some of them were even floating in mid-air, amidst twisted parodies of trees. His eyes looked out into the strange, sunless sky, a variety of pale colours rather than the simple blue he was used to. And in the distance, there amidst the floating islands and random debris was a…shape. Some kind of irregular shadow floating in the air. What was that? Connor wondered, but as the winds howled, Connor somehow knew what this place was._

_This was the Fade._

_It was said that when someone dreams, they come here. It was also said that when most people dream, they are unaware of this place, but those with magic, they can interact with the Fade as much as they could the real world. They could mould this place of chaos into doing whatever they pleased. Connor experimented so, grabbing a nearby cup and raising it high above his head. He let go, but the cup remained where it was, suspended in mid-air, as if there were no such thing as the laws of nature._

_The Guerrin boy's eyes narrowed, feeling a presence behind him. He turned to see. It was a woman, a beautiful woman, or rather; she _looked_ like a beautiful woman, but…not. She was naked, save a gold and purple loincloth and strategically placed jewellery upon her purple body, a long, sharp tail hanging from her rear. In place of hair, her head was wreathed in purple flame and crowned with two great horns. She reminded Connor of mythical creatures known as Succubi from a story he once read, monsters in a woman's form, seeking victims. But this creature before him was no mere 'monster'._

_This was a demon._

"_Why do you cry, child?" she repeated, circling the Guerrin boy, her voice was silky, seductive, and yet Connor could not shake the feeling of malevolence hidden in the words. Jowan warned him of demons, the creatures who inhabit the Fade. He told Connor that demons were drawn to mages like a moth to flame, and if a mage was not careful, then the demon would use their body as a vessel to wreak havoc upon the real world. They would make promises to the mage, promises of power, of knowledge, promises of wealth, and even promises of the pleasures of flesh, in exchange for what they want. Take a demon's offer, and one could become a god among men…for a time, at least, and their price may seem a simple one, but would turn out to be very costly indeed._

"_My father, he…" he turned his head toward his dying father, or rather, the _image_ of his dying father. This was the Fade, after all. "He is…" Connor watched the demon as she circled the bed, caressing his father's bearded face, her black eyes shifting between Connor and his father's body, as if considering something important. Finally, her eyes settled on the boy, peering into his very soul._

"_I can sense the desire within you," said the demon finally, approaching Connor. "All those who wish to see their desires fulfilled seek my kind. You wish for your father's life, yes? I can give it to you."_

"_H-how?" asked Connor as the demon lovingly stroked his face._

"_I am among the greatest of my kind," replied the demon, smiling. "Simply say the word, child, and your father shall live, in exchange for something which _I_ desire, of course." _

"_Which is?" asked the Guerrin boy as she bent over to whisper in his ear, as if sharing a secret between them._

"_I wish to be free of this place," the demon whispered. "I wish to see the mortal world through a mortal's eyes, experience everything that is…'_real_'."_

_Connor took a step back, Jowan warned him of this. He warned him of such bargains. Connor wanted very much to tell this desire demon 'no,' but… But something else told him that he would pay any price if it meant that his father would live. _

_If this demon could help him? If she could give him the power to heal his father?_

_Then…perhaps then that would be a price worth paying. Perhaps it would be a fair deal._

"_I…" Connor could not find the words. Did he want to accept the offer, or decline? If he declined, then his father would die. And if he accepted? If he allowed the demon to use his body as a vessel into the real world? Maker knows what would happen._

_The demon could sense the conflict within the boy. "I understand your concerns," assured the demon. "You fear for what would happen if you…let me in. Rest your fears, child, I have no desire to bring harm to the other mortals," she lied, "I merely wish to…observe."_

_Observe? Connor did not think that was too bad an offer. It seemed a fair deal. Father would live, and this…woman would merely 'observe' as she says. The conflict within him had ceased, now his mind was only screaming at him: 'Take the deal. Take the deal!'_

_He hoped he was doing the right thing._

"_Very well," said Connor, his head held up high, appearing braver than how he really felt. "I accept."_

_It was a fair deal, after all. Wasn't it?_

**End Chapter Twelve.**

_Author's Note: Hola folks! Well, chapter twelve, here we go! I tweaked, and tweaked, and tweaked until I started to tear out my hair, so I just published it and put myself out of my misery. I hoped you all enjoyed reading it, anyway. This was meant to be the third and final section of that chapter I mentioned in the last couple of chapters, the one which I split down. Originally, it was just the section set in the fade, when Connor was making his deal with the Desire Demon, but then I felt that maybe it would make this chapter better if I written in the circumstances which forced Connor to make that deal._

_I know that I have taken some liberties in regards to Arl Eamon, particularly in regards to his age, my mentioning that he was a fairly big guy, and peering into his friendship with Bryce Cousland. Reason for that being is since I have not read the books my only real source of information when it comes to research is the DA Wiki. I got my estimation of Eamon's age from there, it mentioned that he was 15 when his father died, which was roughly thirty-plus years before the setting of DA:O IIRC, so I used that as a point of reference while trying to keep his age vague. _

_But really it said nothing about anything else save a short background and the events of the game. And so I had to…pad him a little bit; elaborate on his relationship with Elissa's father, make theirs a close friendship and thus giving him a reason to help Elissa other than politics and his suspicions about Cailan – at least before his unfortunate 'illness'. And as for my description of him? Well, since human bodies are pretty samey in the game (save the odd fat guy, here and there), I kind of wanted to describe how I picture him in my head, and in my head he looks like a bit of a bruiser to me. That and his voice actor being a pretty big guy himself kind of helped, too._

_I would like to thank 35, Ophalia, DarkReaver724, Akias, infernatus, Verpine, MysteriousOgre and vamp-haruka for following and/or favouriting this story. Thanks a lot, you guys, I really appreciate the support._

_Boomshanka! (Cookie for getting this reference!) :)_

_P.S.: Also, is it just me, or have you noticed too that if you shave the top of Eamon's head, dye his beard brown, and give him a few tattoos then he looks just like Dwalin from The Hobbit? Hmmm… I wonder why… ^_^_


	13. Attraction

**The Wreath of Highever.**

**Chapter Thirteen: Attraction**

It was quiet in the forest, nothing but the sound of the wind blowing through the trees filling Elissa's ears as she stalked through the foliage, tracking her prey. She treads quietly, eyes and ears open for her quarry. And then she paused. Something big came through here, the lady Cousland thought as she searched the ground for any and all clues of the animal's passage; a footprint here, a broken twig there. And the air was thick with the animal's scent, and Elissa willed herself to endure the smell as she followed the clues. Fortunately, clues were aplenty, and Elissa followed each one to track her quarry. One did not need to be an accomplished hunter to track the kind of animal she chases now.

Her prey was a clever beast, but not clever enough to cover his tracks or mask his scent. As evidenced by the beast's presence not ten meters away from her. Found you, you big lump! she thought.

"Come here!" she yelled at Dogmeat, sprinting towards the Mabari.

Dogmeat barked in defiance as he darted away from his mistress, tail wagging behind him and his tongue hanging from his large maw. The hound had led the lady Cousland on a not-so-merry chase, had given her the trouble of tracking him for little over an hour. And all of this trouble was for good reason. There was only one thing which would make the loyal Mabari run away from his best friend. There was only one thing he regarded with the purest of hate. He hated it more than men looking to harm his mistress. He hated it more than even cats, which any self-respecting dog should have at the top of his proverbial list of hates, or close to it.

Bath time.

"Bloody dog!" Elissa grumbled to herself as she chased her dog through the trees. "You need to get a bath, Dogmeat!" she called out to her dog, who was still running away. Dogmeat whined a reply, one which sounded as if to say "No I don't!"

"Yes, you do! And one way or another, you're getting one!" Andraste's great flaming buttocks! Her mind yelled in frustration. What in the world possessed whoever created the Mabaris to make them so _fast_! Bloody dog.

Dogmeat barked again, his head turning to see just how close his mistress had gotten to him. She was no closer to him now than she was since this chase had begun. But Dogmeat was amazed that his mistress was still running after him. Back home, the others who tried to bathe him had given up long before his mistress had to intervene and force him to take a bath. It was fun for a time, until that dreaded time had finally come. And now, that dreaded time has returned at last. And now, his beloved mistress – his dearest friend – was determined to give him the one thing he hates more than anything else. It was always inevitable, but that doesn't mean that he's going to make it easy for her. He never does for anyone else.

The Mabari doubled his efforts, his muscled legs pumping all the harder. He was perfectly willing to exhaust himself if it meant delaying the inevitable.

But suddenly, Elissa just…stopped running. Dogmeat stopped as well, turning to see his mistress standing there, wiping her hands together as if she didn't care anymore. Something was not right; his animal instincts were telling him. His mistress would not give up like this. She would chase him down to the ends of the earth if it meant giving him a bath.

"Fine," she told him breathlessly, shrugging her shoulders and breathing in heavy gulps of air. If Dogmeat wants to play this game, she can play this game too, only she means to play dirty. "You don't want a bath? That's alright with me, boy."

The Mabari tilted his head, whining questioningly at Elissa.

"I understand completely. You're looking to lose a little weight, is that it? That's fine by me."

He whined again, not quite understanding how his weight has anything to do with his being bathed.

"Oh yeah," Elissa continued, crossing her arms and suddenly looking smug as she watched the look on her hound's face. Clearly she was enjoying this, after tracking her dog for so long. "See, all of this chasing you around has given me an idea. Now, this is the deal, Dogmeat. I get to clean you, and then I feed you. Since you don't want to be a clean and healthy Mabari, I can only assume that you don't want to be a fa- …a _well-fed_ Mabari, either."

Dogmeat whined at his mistress once more, in protest, as if telling her that this new arrangement was completely unfair.

"Oh, it's such a shame too, Dogmeat. Alistair is out there fishing in the lake. Fresh fish for dinner, buddy – fish that are _this big_," and for emphasis, Elissa held her hands a distance apart to gauge the size of said fish. "And I think Alistair mentioned something about weaselling some cheese from the dwarves. I know how much you like cheese – which I must add that it gives you gas, and your bowels get really disgusting sometimes, so you're going to be sleeping nowhere near me if I give you some. But I'm babbling, now. Still, a damn shame you won't be joining us, big guy."

The Mabari barked again, this time sounding as if he were reconsidering this arrangement.

"Oh so you're hungry, now?" asks his mistress, holding her thumb toward the direction of their camp. "Because I can go back to Alistair and tell him not to save the biggest fish for you." Dogmeat barked unhappily in answer, grudgingly accepting the terms of this new 'deal' of hers.

"Good boy," Elissa says, smiling at her loyal Mabari and gesturing him to come and follow her to the lake…to be _bathed_. There were only two things Dogmeat loved so much that he would be willing to endure the one thing he hates the most – his mistress – who had just played the dirtiest trick his Mabari mind could think of – and something else; a very close second in his eyes.

Dinner time.

The Mabari had no chance.

* * *

Leliana hummed to herself as she bathed in the waters of Lake Calenhad. It was a happy little tune about a prince who was bored with his life in his palace, and had switched lives with a pauper lookalike and fell in love with a flower girl. As she hummed and ran a wet rag over her body, she could not help but notice how lovely a day today was. The day was warm, a rarity in Ferelden, especially in the southern half of the country. The sun was bright and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. The waters were calm, cool and soothing against her skin. Leliana could even hear little songbirds in the air. The Orlesian woman closed her eyes, easily losing herself in the perfect moment she felt as she bathed, and would have felt longer were it not for the very large Mabari war hound splashing into the lake, in front of her.

"_Dogmeat_!" she gasped, wiping the droplets of water which splashed in her face, eyes narrowing as her perfect moment suddenly transformed into sharing the lake with a smelly dog.

Dogmeat barked at the Orlesian as he stood neck-deep in the water, as if he were telling her not to say anything, that he liked this less than she did.

"Oh, I am going to -" the Orlesian's words halted as she heard footsteps coming from the shore. It was Elissa, who had quickly averted her gaze as soon as the bard had come into the lady Cousland's view.

"Sorry!" Elissa began, feeling awkward. Of all the things she had expected as she arrived at Lake Calenhad, she honestly did not expect to come across any of her travelling companions taking this opportunity to be clean, and certainly not Leliana. At least she didn't walk in on Alistair…or the dwarves. But the one glimpse of the naked woman in the lake would be forever burned in her memory, standing there with her hands crossed against her chest, droplets of water running down the cleavage in between her covered breasts. Elissa blushed at the memory, and suddenly, that…'something' in the pit of her stomach returned. What _is_ that, exactly? the part of her mind which wasn't completely embarrassed asked herself. Was it the same 'something' that lovesick teenagers claim to feel when they swoon over their beaus? If so, then why would she feel like that over Leliana? There was something about Leliana which made Elissa want to be around her. Elissa did understand that women sometimes seek…intimacy with each other, and even hold relationships with one another, but until that day they met in Lothering, Elissa had never had any more interest toward women than she had towards men.

So this…'something' cannot be what she thinks it is. Can it?

No. It's probably a stomach ache, or something.

"Forgive me. I-uh," Elissa stammered, still not looking at the older woman bathing in the lake. "I-I can come back."

Dogmeat barked at his mistress in protest, as if telling her that he was not returning here to be bathed, dinner or no.

"It's perfectly alright," Leliana waved it off, releasing her arms to continue washing. "Please. Stay and clean your _smelly dog_!" the last she said directed toward Dogmeat, who chuffed indignantly at her.

"No! I can't," replied Elissa, still not looking at Leliana. The Orlesian had to giggle a little at the way her travelling companion was acting, as if the younger woman has never seen a naked woman before. "I'm intruding, I'll just come back."

Elissa was about to call for her dog when Leliana called out for her. "Elissa, look at me," she said, standing still in the water, watching the younger woman turn to see her. She is Orlesian; she is comfortable with showing her body off to others. More than comfortable. And yet the look Elissa wore as she taken in the sight of Leliana's nude form was not something she had come to expect from the Ferelden. It was a look the bard has known for many years, a look shared by the many admirers she had seduced and eventually betrayed in her duties to her old bardmistress. It was a look which told her that this woman – this beautiful, noble…_angry_ woman – was attracted to her. Now she understands why Elissa was embarrassed over seeing her like this. Elissa is attracted to her, and yet she does not know exactly what it is she is feeling. It was as if she were completely innocent of the touch of another. Such a thing was rare indeed.

"There is nothing that I have, that you do not also have. Come, I'll keep you company while you wash our friend here."

"So what _was_ life like in the Chantry cloister?" asked Elissa as she rubbed Dogmeat's back with a wet rag. They had been conversing like this for the better part of an hour. Leliana had finished bathing and dressed in a simple long shirt, while Elissa sat by the shore of Lake Calenhad and washed her dog, long past the . They were speaking about Leliana herself, mostly, of her life before the Chantry, of her adventures as a travelling minstrel. Leliana always enjoyed telling stories, and while the past she had woven for the lady Cousland was mostly that – a story – she could not help but feel that little joy enter her heart while she spoke.

"Hmm," Leliana pursed her lips whilst thinking about how to answer. "Quiet," she finally said. "It was a life suited to contemplation. In the cloister, far from the fuss and the flurry of the cities…I found peace. And in that stillness, I could hear the Maker…"

As Elissa listened to the Orlesian speak about her life in the Chantry, she wondered why such a beautiful, charming woman who obviously lived such an exciting life want to cloister herself in an old Chantry in the middle of nowhere. Did the Orlesian tire of such adventure? It certainly did not seem so, considering the way Leliana's face lit up when she told tales of her past. She must ask Leliana why she turned to the Chantry, some time.

"The Chantry provides succour and safe harbour to all who seek it," Leliana continued. "I chose to stay and become affirmed."

The time was now, it seemed. "And…why were you seeking safe harbour?" asked Elissa. Leliana could see the genuine curiosity in her young friend's eyes, yet the Orlesian could not help but feel a little alarmed by the question. Dark memories swirled through her mind, memories of pain, of death, of betrayal, of a darker life she chose to leave when she turned to the Chantry. Leliana could not help but feel afraid that if Elissa ever learned of what she used to do – of what she used to _be_ – the young Fereldan may choose not to let her help in her quest for justice. She may even tall her to leave, and thus would not be there for her when her journey threatens to change her for the worse.

Then she would have failed the Maker.

This cannot happen.

Under no circumstances should Elissa know what she used to be.

Shaking her head free of dark thought, Leliana grinned at the young Fereldan noblewoman. "The Chantry does not pry," she teased, "and you should?"

Elissa just gave a short laugh in reply. Fair enough, she thought. Leliana's past was her business and hers alone. Simple curiosity on Elissa's part should not command that it be satisfied. She would simply have to be content with the fact that if Leliana wanted to tell her, then she will tell her. And it was not as if she were a lethal assassin, suckering her in with her friendly words, lying in wait for the kill.

"I simply desired time apart from the world," Leliana continued. "Even the life I led could get boring from time to time." Leliana gave her young friend a bright smile and wrapped an arm across her shoulders. "Do not worry, Elissa. There is nothing to fear from me." Only from what I did.

"Come on," Leliana said, taking hold of one of Elissa's hands and helping her up as she stood. "We should be getting back to the camp."

* * *

It was fast becoming evening, and the camp was quiet save for the clashing of practice swords. Alistair was preparing his 'world famous roasted fish', while Morrigan simply sat quietly beside her own fire, several paces from the main camp. Bodahn and Sandal were with them also, Elissa having apologised for her outburst, and invited them to share the road with the at least as far as Redcliffe. Elissa could not forgive the fact that a family heirloom of hers was in the possession of a dwarven peddler, but she understood that it was of no fault of Bodahn's. It was just a shield, after all, of little value to anybody else but her family. But at least Bodahn was a good enough man to return what rightfully belonged to her, though something about him told the lady Cousland that he had been in that kind of situation before. The dwarves were currently taking stock of their inventory, hoping to maybe find something of interest for the next village where they could sell their wares.

While Alistair was cooking, and Dogmeat sleeping by the fire, Elissa and Leliana had taken the opportunity to practice their skill with their chosen weapons. Elissa was unarmoured, though she moved as if she still carried the heavy weight. It was a force of habit for Elissa, so used to bearing such a burden on her body. Leliana, on the other hand, was used to being unburdened by the heaviness of armour instead relying on speed and precision…and fighting dirty. A slip of a blade here, an unsportsmanlike thrust of her knee there, the Orlesian fell into the old tricks of her former trade as if she never left them, while Elissa was trained to be an honourable swordswoman.

With every thrust and swing of Elissa's practice sword, Leliana countered and parried and dodged. And yet for every opportunity Leliana saw to gain the advantage, Elissa was there, shield at the ready to take the blow in stride. For all the aggression the Orlesian had seen in the way she fought back in Lothering, it seemed that tonight instead Elissa would cast away her aggression. Tonight she was calm, as if the anger she felt was no longer there. Through her stance, it was as if Elissa had become a steel wall – unyielding, unbreakable. Leliana could see that her young Fereldan friend has been taught well in the way of sword and shield, and for her youth she could very well be a very formidable fighter.

And suddenly, Leliana found herself falling to the ground. It was not an errant blow which knocked her down, nor was it an accidental smack of Elissa's heavy shield. As she fell, she realised that Elissa Cousland had tripped her. So much for being an honourable swordswoman.

By instinct, the Orlesian grabbed a handful of Elissa's shirt and dragged her to the ground with her, landing on top of the Orlesian woman. The pair of them laughed, thinking of the sight they must have been at this moment.

"You cheated!" giggled Leliana, wiping an errant tear from her eye.

"'Do the unexpected,'" quoted Elissa. "Especially when faced with a clear disadvantage. My arms masters taught me that."

"So I must have been winning, then?"

"Of course not. Not in the least," laughed Elissa, and then went silent as she realised where exactly she was – on top of this beautiful redheaded woman. She could feel every curve and contour of Leliana's body underneath hers – she could even feel the Orlesian woman's hand gently grasp her breast. Did that always feel so nice? Elissa asked herself as she found herself for some reason lost in Leliana's eyes. To anyone watching, this would seem like Elissa was about to make love to Leliana, and in her mind's eye, Elissa could still see Leliana's nude form in the waters of Lake Calenhad. But that was ridiculous. She doesn't want to make love with Leliana. Does she?

That damnable 'something' has returned to the pit of her stomach, and against her own will, she could not help but wonder what it would be like to…be with her like this, to share her bed and make love with her. Is that what the 'something' is? Lust? Maker's breath. Love, even?

Elissa suddenly found herself drawn to Leliana's mouth for some reason, and the way Leliana bit her lip. Her lips. What would it feel like to kiss those lips? her heart asked her, yet her mind was screaming at her not to make a fool of herself as she slowly closed her eyes and lowered her mouth to meet Leliana's.

A kiss which was not meant to be.

"Maker! Are you two alright?" asked Alistair as he made his way from the cooking spit and almost blackened fish to where they fell. Elissa's eyes opened as she quickly scrambled to her feet, taking Leliana with her.

"Leliana, I am so sorry!" stammered the lady Cousland as she brushed the dirt from the Orlesian's clothes. She was so ashamed of herself that she could not even meet Leliana's eyes. What in Andraste's name was I thinking?! Elissa thought as the blush warmed her face. Trying to kiss her like that. What is wrong with me?!

"It's quite alright, Elissa," Leliana gave the Fereldan a little smile. "It just teaches me to watch where my feet are, that's all. But what about you, are you alright?"

'Am I alright', she asks. Not really. But she finally raised her head to meet the Orlesian's eyes – those beautiful orbs. They were giving her a way out. A way to keep her honour intact, to simply cross it off as a simple tumble during training. "I didn't mean to grab you," Leliana said.

An accident.

"Yeah," she replied finally. "Yeah, I'm fine. It was just an accident. Nothing more."

"Well now," piped in Alistair. "Seeing as neither of you have – you know – killed each other, yet. Dinner is served!"

Elissa gave a nervous chuckle as she followed Alistair to the cooking spit to be served some near-overcooked fish. As she watched them leave, Leliana pressed a hand to her chest, as if forcing it to stop beating so hard. She remembered the way Elissa felt when she was on top of her. Elissa felt so soft, and yet she was firm to the touch. She remembered how soft the Fereldan's breast was as she grasped it by accident. She remembered the way Elissa looked at her – both now and before, when she bathed – and the attraction Elissa displayed for her. And she remembered how she felt when Elissa tried to kiss her. She wanted the Fereldan to kiss her, to take her right then and there, in front of everyone if need be.

No. Were she still the same woman as she was all those years ago, Leliana would have no qualms with tearing Elissa's clothes off. But she wasn't that woman anymore. She wasn't that shameless hussy who would sleep with just anyone. And while their attraction was mutual, Leliana resolved to never let it get in the way of anything. She will help Elissa with what she feels if she lets her, but she promised herself to be careful. She has to be careful, lest their attraction harms the both of them.

**End Chapter Thirteen.**

* * *

_Author's Note: Yep, I'm still alive. I am so sorry for not updating this story for so long. I've been busy, as in 'Work my dick off' busy. First there was 'Those who Fight' the new Mass Effect fanfic I've been working on lately (which – shameless plug – please feel free to read if you wish). Then there's my archnemesis, Real Life, kicking my arse. Then there was the Citadel DLC and Tomb Raider to play (both of which are fucking awesome). And there was a little thing called writer's block I've been having with this chapter. Good times!_

_But anyway, here we go. Did you like it? Did you hate it? Personally it seemed a little…forced, but I was determined to get this story rolling again, so for better or worse, I have. But please let me know what you thought of it. And I promise that the next chapter will have some action in it!_

_I would like to thank brent2605, Fooxie, MayhemPrincess, TaylorLoe, Night3603, FallenHeir, jessclifton, Daken, LastStandZiggy, and FallenHeir for choosing to follow and/or favourite this story. Thanks a lot, I appreciate the support._

_We'll bang, okay?_


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